


Venri

by Recidiva



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 291,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recidiva/pseuds/Recidiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reimagining of Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian story through the game series.  Mostly canon compliant with additions.  Accent on snark and smut.  </p><p>ME 1, 2 and 3 Youtube videos under the username Recidiva Quixotic with a play through for Morim and Garrus.  I grabbed every bit of Garrus dialogue that wasn't drowned out by gunfire or Reaper noises.  Includes a few additions that I love such as "Once again the Salarian Union requests that you stop touching that."</p><p>THANK YOU to Chiara Keating who wrote a song, "Losing Myself" and Discovery System who rendered models <a href="http://dochielle.tumblr.com/Fan%20Art%20for%20Venri">here</a></p><p>
  <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/art/Morim-Shepard-609506020">Beautiful art from KuraiUmmei on Deviantart for chapter 15</a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6m0YJleOvqqnXFOdlx9dRkMtIARx9y9S">"Venri" narrated on YouTube</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Timeline: Mass Effect 1, investigating a distress signal.

Shepard

Morim Shepard hated fighting Colossus. She really did. Why was it that landing on a random planet to do whatever the hell she wanted to do otherwise meant running up against a Colossus waaaay too often? Why not wine tastings? Why not a lovely spa in the middle of a shit storm oasis? The only blessing was that it wasn't a thresher maw. 

Wrex had run ahead into melee range, which was his usual job. Unfortunately this time he was crumpled, out cold because he had failed to register that this wasn't usual job material. Garrus and Shepard were crouched behind cover. Fortunately a Colossus moved very slowly or not at all. It was content to shoot blue shit at them at regular intervals. Those intervals could be timed, but catching an edge of that blue shit could knock you out of cover and out in the open, resulting in prompt death.

She couldn't see him, but Garrus yelled over from cover to let her know he was fine "What's the matter, Commander, you just going to leave Wrex there? Leave no man behind doesn't count when the man's Krogan?"

Shepard smiled and shouted back "There's no 'behind' yet, Garrus. Let me just kill this thing first, you sit back and wait, then you can kiss him to wake him up."

Garrus shouted back "Sexual assault. Nice.” 

Shepard timed her shot, working out the interval. It was focused on her, giving Garrus a clear shot. He was aware of timing and watched to see if it turned on him. She was careful, doing little damage. Its interval wasn’t the same as hers, so she couldn’t reliably line up a very good shot and she couldn’t always hit it with biotics, but she took the interval space to appear and draw its attention, keep its attention on her while Garrus did the actual work of chipping its health down. She darted out as bait, red hair and green eyes flashing behind her helmet.

There were a few of those jumpy Geth assholes. She hated the jumpy Geth assholes too. "Garrus, could you focus on the Yo-Yos there for a minute?"

Garrus paused "The what?"

Shepard said "The jumpy fucker Geth assholes."

Garrus snorted "Is that their technical name?"

Shepard shot again and then said "Yes, Jumpy Fucker is their classification."

There was only the sound of his rifle for a while and the timing got easier as the Jumpy Fuckers fell or exploded.

Shepard yelled again to make sure he was fine when the shots were less regular "Garrus, why is it that it's often you and I with someone else unconscious when it comes down to the hard stuff?"

Garrus shouted back "I like our little talks, Commander. That and the fact that I'm not allergic to cover and strategic thought, unlike our usual Sleeping Beauty squad mates."

Shepard sounded surprised "Sleeping Beauty? How do you know human stories?"

Garrus shouted "Porn, Commander. Humans have lots of porn and for some reason think I'm interested. C-Sec had a lot of confiscated bits of weird that made the rounds."

Shepard laughed "Wow, Garrus, that information made my nipples hard."

Garrus answered "Keep it in your pants, Commander, or wherever humans keep it." He took his last shot and the Colossus exploded in pretty colors.

Relieved, Shepard said "Wait, no. THAT made my nipples hard."

They walked slowly up on Wrex, checking for more Geth or whatever else this planet had. Rabid electrocuting squirrels would not get the jump on them. Garrus dug Medi-gel out of his belt and said "They're so cute when they're sleeping."

From there it was fairly natural that her squad choice of Garrus and anybody else was going to be the way it was. She'd probably prefer going with just him, but there was no real need to insult her crew by making them feel like spares, even if she often considered them that way and worried about them, and the effects of extended loss of consciousness. Was there a lack of oxygen to the brain? She didn't have to worry about Garrus. He had moved into the position of being her second in command and had no need of title or confirmation, he just did it. He had adapted to her command style quickly. He had started out straight laced Turian, but she knew he was now enjoying the informality of it, the humor of it, in between being deadly. She was too.

She began to think of herself and Garrus as parents that tried to keep the rest of the crew, their kids, alive.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in a hallway

Ashley: Thank you for your help back there.

Garrus: You’re welcome. Thank you for your help.

Ashley: It was nothing.

Garrus: It wasn’t nothing.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Mass Effect 1, after Virmire mission

Shepard

They didn’t keep all the kids alive. Virmire was a fuck up. They went into a mission not knowing what the hell was going on, no back up from the Council and with a target she absolutely had to reach. She’d saved Kirrahe and his team and Kaidan and lost Ashley. “Sure” she thought to herself. “It was great when the Council sent me in alone. I love those guys and their foresight. I don’t want to watch their heads explode at all.” She imagined each of the faces of the Council members exploding from a head shot, and the sound in her head was from Garrus’s rifle. She had to address the crew and then the Council. 

Kaidan was looking at her and he chose exactly the wrong words. “I can’t believe that Ash didn’t make it. How could we just leave her down there?”

She briefly imagined his head exploding as well and then said “There was no time. The bomb was about to go off. I couldn’t save you both.”

Kaidan followed up with “But why me? Why not her?” and the sheer idiocy of his question drew her fire at a moment when her fire was not a good thing to draw. This was not the place or the time, and she bit back the impulse to tell him to shove his question up his ass until his biotics made it glow blue. She would redirect this to a teaching moment.

She turned to Kaidan, her voice steady and cold. “Ashley was a soldier. She went into a difficult mission and she gave her life finishing it. She did her job and she is a hero. She understood the stakes and her actions. Guarding that bomb, defending it until it detonated, was her choice, and it was the correct choice with what we all had to work with. I am not saying “right” choice because “right” choice belonged to the Council, who could have provided us with enough back up to get a hard job done right. I can understand the Council being incompetent, because as far as I can tell, that's their whole job. However, we are fucked if any member of this crew cannot differentiate between what they want to happen and what is happening. There are only six of us left. I am willing to cut that number further unless you get your head on straight, Alenko. Choosing to rescue Ashley would have left us open to the bomb not detonating. Choosing you wasn't even choosing you, it was choosing Kirrahe’s team AND you. Maybe you should go down into the hold and thank them, because if you think that I made a choice for “you” and not “you and,” you should get to know the “and” that put you in the position of not being dead today. If you don’t understand that this is a dangerous mission and that people are going to get hurt and people are going to die no matter what we do, you can leave the Normandy with the Salarians when they disembark. We’ve passed the point of a lot of right choices, but we still have correct choices in front of us. Our actions today saved countless lives that would have been overrun by Krogan forces and gave us precious intel that will save even more lives. I am fiercely proud of Ashley and if I were her, I'd be proud of myself. I'd be angry at anybody who took that victory from me and assumed that I'd choose to live, abandoning my duty, rather than die being of service. Saren killed Ashley. She was doing something critical. Kaidan, your job as a distraction to placing that bomb was completed." Her voice softened and warmed. "I'm fiercely proud of you for doing that job, but it was done, and her job wasn't. Circumstances saved you." She turned away from Kaidan and scanned the team in the room. "If anybody here is not willing to die making the correct choice to do something critical, you are in the wrong place. Dismissed.”

Everyone filed out except for Garrus. He waited until everyone was gone and then said “I would have just punched him.”

Shepard cracked her neck. “That would have felt good, too.”

Garrus said "Don’t get me wrong, I like your way better. Punching doesn’t always communicate complicated concepts."

Joker’s voice sounded “You want me to open a channel to the Council?”

Shepard’s face promised an intergalactic incident.

Garrus looked at her, then answered Joker himself “Fuck the council, Joker.”

Joker answered “Aye aye.”

Shepard's face cleared and she stood for a few moments before saying "Garrus, do you drink?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He didn't like to drink, really, but found alcohol to be a universal solvent for trade and confidences, so he had a cache of it. "I can get a bottle of something if you can get a bottle of something. I don't want to kill you with my something." 

After retrieving their particular poisons, they met back in the side room to the mess, abandoned except for them.

The subject of Ashley might have been difficult to discuss, but Shepard made it easy. Garrus hadn't known her well, but had heard her theoretically private discussions with Shepard. He couldn't have failed to hear them. He had wondered if Ashley had said what she said about not trusting aliens on purpose, knowing he could hear it. He later decided she wouldn't have. She would have told him straight to his face if she'd wanted him to know. She was a good soldier and she'd done her job and had died doing it. It didn’t matter what she’d thought of him while she was alive, this was about him giving her his full respect after her death.

Shepard drank some vile solvent that made his eyes water in shots, and he sipped at his more slowly.

She closed her eyes and said "That woman liked to hit things."

Garrus added approvingly. "Hard."

Shepard added "Yup, you have to have an appreciation for people who like to hit things that hard." She paused and then said "She liked poetry."

Turians were not poets. He tried to appreciate that corner of the human soul, even if he couldn't appreciate poetry as much as humans appeared to. Shepard pulled up "Ulysses" by Tennyson on her Omni Tool and recited the poem.

Garrus listened dutifully. This was about Ashley, not him. Poetry was a miss for him. People seemed to get lost in it, carried away like they were listening to a harp played with skill. Poetry for him was like throwing a rock at a harp. You might hit something, but it wasn't music, it wasn't rapture. The language was unfamiliar. He could make out some of the meaning, but after a while he just enjoyed listening to her voice, rich and expressive. Her voice was exotic and straightforward, missing the sub-harmonics of Turian speech and no accents from the use of mandible. He searched for a word to describe her. Unified. Shepard was unified.

He picked up a few lines that reminded him of Ashley. "I mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race." Well, that was true. "I am become a name." That was what this was about, letting her name echo where she could no longer speak. "Drunk delight of battle with my peers." Damned right she did.

Shepard's tone was enough to tell a story of a life. He'd seen enough lives lived and ended to be able to understand why these would be important words to a soldier.

Shepard finished, then lined up a shot and downed it. It looked like her eyes watered too. So it wasn't just him.

Shepard asked "Do Turians write poetry? I don't think I've seen much in the way of Turian literature."

Garrus answered "No, we don't. Writing is precise and technical. Art should be out in the world. Getting stuck in your own head isn't encouraged."

Shepard laughed "That's what poetry is to you? Someone stuck in their head?"

Garrus hoped he hadn't offended her. "I haven't been exposed to much poetry. There's also a language barrier here. What the hell is a Hyades?"

Shepard thought a moment "I think the Hyades may have been Ulysses's ship. I'm not sure though. Maybe it was like his Normandy." She fiddled with her Omni Tool. "Nope. Hyades was a constellation – a formation of stars as seen from Earth, used for crude navigation. See, even I have no idea."

Garrus said "I'm relieved. It's not just me."

Shepard chuckled "So, Turian poetry would be more like "There is slot A and Tab B and they are to be brought together."

Garrus chuckled "Just make sure you clarify the angle at which they are to be brought together. And add a diagram."

Shepard said "So, Turian poetry is a user's manual."

Garrus nodded "Without fail. Is all poetry like the one you just read?"

Shepard considered "There is one poem I have memorized. "If" by Rudyard Kipling."

Garrus said "You have it memorized? Let’s hear it."

Shepard leaned her head back and recited:

“If you can keep your head when all about you  
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;  
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,  
But make allowance for their doubting too:  
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,  
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,  
Or being hated don't give way to hating,  
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;  
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,  
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster  
And treat those two impostors just the same,  
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken  
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,  
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings  
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,  
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,  
And never breathe a word about your loss:  
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  
To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
And so hold on when there is nothing in you  
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,  
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,  
If all men count with you, but none too much:  
If you can fill the unforgiving minute  
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,  
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,  
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!”

Garrus was speechless through her recitation. This was very Turian. This was a user's manual. This was Shepard's user's manual. This he understood and he felt like her voice was playing her own harp. He finally felt he could say he appreciated poetry. Except…"You'll be a man?" he asked.

She laughed and clinked her glass to his. "I always hoped Rudyard Kipling would be willing to include women and daughters."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Timeline: After the end of Mass Effect 1

Shepard

Saren, the ultimate Jumpy Fucker was dead. Really dead. She had checked several times. The Citadel was rebuilding and there were a lot of parties and alcohol because the Guardians did most of the rebuilding anyway.

After Virmire, Shepard’s crew had come together in purpose. Now on the Citadel, they were a true team. Kaidan had gotten his head on straight. Tali had always had her head on straight. The only reason Shepard didn’t bring Tali out on every mission was Shepard’s concern for her health. She had nightmares about holes in her suit. Wrex was now a celebrity on the Citadel, with no end of requests to take his picture with fans near the Krogan Monument. Liara had become less helpless, more determined. Garrus was…Garrus wasn’t the same as when they had started. Garrus has become indispensible. Shepard had every reason to be proud of her crew, and it showed that she was.

Shepard had invited everyone out for a memorial party for Ashley, and had invited along any anybody else who wanted to honor her service. Since microphones and reporters were everywhere around Shepard lately, that meant a thousand or so people, with more coming in. Flux was flooded and spilling over, the party was extending down the causeways. Candles, pictures of Ashley and vids of Ashley were flickering and flashing on tabletops and walls and impromptu displays.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Garrus managed to make it through the rowdy crowd to the inside of Flux. He recognized the team’s table, but he didn’t see Shepard. While he was looking around for her he noticed a human woman that had drawn a crowd, and he could see why. Her back was turned, but he got the impression of shimmering, creamy skin, beautiful lines of her shoulders and back, with gentle curves of her waist, hips and calves. Her hair was midnight black, flowing down her back in loose curls, and her dress was a combination of hologram and fabric that gave the illusion of molten gold dripped onto her shoulders, forming rivulets down her body and dripping off her mid thighs. Her shoes matched in animation, gold droplets splashing onto her feet and solidifying and melting into filigree high-heeled sandals with forming and fading raw beads of gold.

She looked like an elemental Goddess, all fire and flow. He was mesmerized, surprised to find a human attractive, but appreciating the play of strength and delicacy of this level of theater. That dress was fascinating. As she turned toward him he noticed the gold forming rivulets under her breasts and he wanted to touch that fabric, he wanted to touch that skin.

Holy shit. That was Shepard. She turned to face him and the Goddess waved to him enthusiastically. She was wearing stylized gold-rimmed contact lenses and her eyes were reminiscent of emerald jewelry. 

Oh holy shit. He wanted to touch Shepard. He was going to blame the dress and leave it at that. Come on, that was a nice dress. Somebody put a lot of work into that dress. Shepard had good taste. Fuck.

He sat down heavily at the empty seat next to Tali and everyone exchanged greetings. Kaidan offered to get another round of drinks, so he put in his order.

Garrus was looking for a little bit of camaraderie here. Everybody was okay with Shepard in that dress?

He said “Well. Now I feel under dressed.”

Tali leaned her mask closer “I would like to drip gold, but that dress would kill me.”

Liara also leaned in and said “That dress was intended to kill.”

Tali laughed and said “Don’t you think it’s to honor Ashley, though? That’s what I thought. Ashley always looked good.”

Liara nodded “Of course it is. Her makeup was always perfect. That woman could blend.”

Kaidan brought the drinks back and Garrus raised a toast.

Garrus said “Ashley could kill too. To Ashley!”

Liara and Tali laughed and Kaidan drank to Ashley killing people.

He didn't get a chance to talk to Kaidan, who was mobbed by women and a few hopeful men. Good for him. Kaidan had come a long way and he wasn’t stuck with his eyes glued to Shepard anymore. Reversal of fortune.

Joker made it back to the table, basically risking his life to be here, in the crowd. Brave man. One solid shove and he’d be short a few limbs. Dancing for Joker was out. Ashley deserved the effort being made. He felt proud to be part of it.

Garrus tore his eyes off Shepard, again, and watched the crowd. Wrex was dancing. It was…majestic? Wrex had a crew of men and women encouraging him to dance more, and there was so much flailing, it was entertaining. Then they all started dancing like him and it was even more entertaining.

Shepard noticed, started to laugh, and ran over to dance next to Wrex. They were…absolutely terrible. Shepard could not dance. Wrex could not dance. But they could LIVE, and it was joyous. A joyous Krogan wasn't something he'd thought he'd ever see. They were both laughing so hard that Garrus couldn’t help but smile.

He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been watching her ass in that dress, the way it curved and there was bouncing and…and then a hand.

Looks like someone else wanted to touch the dress. He was first relieved that someone else's self control broke before his did, and then viciously angry, ready to stand. Before he could move, Shepard whipped around once, not breaking her ridiculous dance moves, her laughter or her focus on Wrex, and the guy who owned the hand was staggering off the dance floor, fingers broken at odd angles.

Garrus admired her work.

That’s my girl.

Oh holy shit. He thought Shepard was his girl.

He ordered another drink.

He was having some trouble just holding still, but if he couldn’t keep his shit together internally he could at least look as though he owned dignity somewhere in storage.

The song ended and she made her way back to their table. Most people didn’t recognize her as Commander Shepard, but word had gotten around enough that people stopped her to thank her for her service, her invitation to include the Citadel in honoring Ashley, and compliment her on her dress.

He heard her say “It’s for Ashley. I never got to see her dance. Thank you for coming out to celebrate her.”

She broke away from her admirers and melted into the chair next to him and said “Garrus! I’m so glad you made it.”

He answered “Good to see you, Commander.”

She said “Please, call me Morim. The only person whose rank matters this evening is Ashley.”

He’d never called her Morim. She swapped between calling him Garrus or Vakarian, but she’d always been Shepard or Commander. Drinking to Ashley had taken its toll and if she was going to be informal, he’d go with it.

“All right, Morim.” His voice tasted the sound, drawing it out in the sub-register. He liked saying her name. “You look lovely. Ashley would have appreciated the gesture. It’s gratifying to see all these people here to honor her.”

Morim laughed “It is an amazing dress, isn’t it? I have to give it back tomorrow, it’s worth more than the Normandy or something, but Arakan T'Lasa, a ridiculously talented Asari designer offered it to me for the night, along with the hair, the shoes and the contacts, and I decided…what the hell. Ashley deserves some drama.”

Garrus nodded “Very effective.”

She turned and took his hands in hers, startling him. She leaned in close and said in a determined and fervent voice. “Garrus, I could have not done this without you. You, more than anybody here, allowed me to do my job, an impossible job. Our impossible job. You can’t know what this means to me, what you mean to me.”

She stood, leaned forward and kissed the center of his crest, putting her gold-dripped breasts at his eye level.

He had time to discover that she smelled good after dancing.

Then she was gone.

He sat there wondering what the hell had just happened and whether or not he had lipstick in the middle of his crest.

Eventually he asked Tali.

The answer was yes. They couldn’t decide whether or not it would be offensive to remove it, they had no idea.

In the end he left it there.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in Flux

Kaidan: I don’t think I’ve been able to tell you it’s been an honor to work with you.

Garrus: It’s been an honor to work with you as well, Kaidan. Wish you’d been able to show me how to do some of the things you do.

Kaidan: Your adjustments to my sighting and the grip on my pistol have been very helpful.

Garrus: If only my brain were as versatile as yours.

Kaidan: I’m going to miss you, Garrus. Good luck at Spectre training.

Garrus: Hoping to work with you again someday.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Tali had gone back to the Flotilla to finish her Pilgrimage. Morim had given her a trove of information on the Geth and she was eager to present it. Wrex returned to Tuchanka, inspired to help shape the future of his people. Morim had recovered his family armor. Kaidan and Liara remained on the Citadel, waiting as Morim did to hear whether or not the Normandy would be their home again. Garrus saw Morim often on the Citadel, usually at her urging. He thought of her as Morim now, and not Shepard, although he rarely said it and she didn’t insist after Ashley’s memorial. Garrus had regained some of his perspective after having been shocked to find her not just admirable, but attractive. Morim changed her paint…make up…daily, but he wouldn't be caught off guard again. He expected her to be beautiful, and she was. There were times when he wanted to touch her and see the contrast between his hand and her skin, but he kept it to himself. He always wore gauntlets out of habit, so he was spared the opportunity to give in to that temptation.

It was hard to predict whether she was going to be brilliant or brain dead on any given set of circumstances. Heavy on the brilliant, and occasionally even her brain dead turned out to be brilliant, but there was a hefty chunk of brain dead in there that made him wary and concerned. She was intuitive, fluid and given to taking huge chances on little evidence. A Turian commander like her would not survive long in the hierarchy. She was unpredictable. She had no standards of engagement. She just engaged. Her style was not teachable. He’d always thought that the even and specific standards of Turian training were ideal, but he had begun to see the flaw when there was too much sameness. She seemed more willing to break a mold for the fun of breaking it compared to a Turian ambition to fit it perfectly. He’d had to concede that occasionally out of human chaos came something that couldn’t be produced by other means, and she was the best example he’d seen.

As a training exercise his time on the Normandy had been invaluable. He'd seen her use of power and strategy. She won big, but she also lost big. She seemed to accept the failure as a cost of the success, measuring them together for their cumulative value instead of measuring them against each other in a win/lose ratio. He saw the need for that approach when the odds of failure were very high. If she needed a win, she would throw everything she had at a problem, fully committed. He had been trained to do the opposite, to never place a bet or commit a resource until the odds were known, tweaked and manipulated to his advantage. She dove at a 3% chance without hesitation. He would always wait until things were at least 51% in his favor. He had come to realize that he was a leader for the day to day, when things could be arranged that way, and time and preparation were resources taken for granted. She was a leader for when the mission was hopeless by everyone else's standards. That was her day to day.

Strategically he thought he understood her, though he couldn't duplicate her style even if he'd wanted to. Socially he saw that she was expert at manipulation and she chose inspiration as her usual approach. If she could not inspire, she would intimidate. If she could do neither, she tended to shoot before anybody else had realized that the negotiation was over.

On analysis he'd realized that what made her decisions seem random or disorganized was because there was a factor missing in her that was present in most successful people: Ego. Many people sought power to fuel their ego, and then their ego fueled the search for more power, more status. Turians and humans in general shared that motivation. She wasn't just un-Turian, she was also inherently un-human, or was inhuman the word? Turians knew their place by knowing the hierarchy and status calculations in each moment, formalized and reinforced. She saw status as a means to an end, not an end in itself. It was something she used, something that was not part of her, not the way she saw herself. She saw the value of being underestimated. Her ego was like her gun. She only required it in specific circumstances, and at the end of the day she put it down. Garrus could measure his merit in Turian terms with his rifle. He was good at that, therefore he was good. He was of use. That use was inherent and could be measured. 

He'd also analyzed her solution to Saleon. When she'd decided to turn him in, she hadn't stressed what many people would have, the credit. No interest in taking the credit for herself, not encouraging him to think about his status if he brought him in. She'd discarded it as a factor to calculate into her decisions. He'd wondered if she'd seen something in him, wondering if he could reach beyond his ego as well. He'd like to know how she saw him. Was ego something missing in her, or something she ignored and didn't feed? Hard to tell. Did she think being like her would benefit him? It wasn't likely that he would aspire to be like her, though he admired her. What she did was like juggling fire. He wasn't interested in juggling fire, just putting it out far away from himself.

He suspected that Morim saw no inherent use in herself until she was doing something, then she had whatever use she could create in that moment under those circumstances. Quicksilver, able to flow along the landscape, respond to gravity. Selfless. Not only in the traditional way of being benevolent and outwardly directed, but also selfless in that she focused on a problem's solution, willing to alter herself to solve that problem. She was Schroedinger's Shepard. She didn't know who she was going to be, or if she was going to be alive or dead until she opened the boxes of her decisions.

She was impatient with being the subject of conversation or speculation. Complimenting or admiring her tended to bore her. It didn't made her upset, it was simply…useless information as it was neither a critique, which could be of interest to her strategy, nor humor, which she seemed to admire like fireworks that lit up her day. Humor made her feel in good company, keeping calm in the storm. Turians didn't have that much use for humor, but he'd learned to enjoy it. It was in the same category as poetry and now alcohol. Acquired tastes enjoyed in exclusive company. 

He was not raised or trained to be quicksilver, but a forged metal in a useful shape, interchangeable with many other Turians and differentiated only through experience and skill level. There couldn’t be two of Morim on a team without chaos, and she recognized that she needed him as a foil. He compensated for her and she valued him for it, though it could drive her to take greater risks, knowing that he would be there. She leaned on his humor as she leaned on him in a fight, testing limits, venturing further, enjoying the range, juggling more fire, throwing it higher and farther, keeping more of it in the air at a time.

He'd followed the lead of his Commander and altered his communication style, his methods, to complement hers, and he had a taste for snark now. It wouldn’t have been so easy to change if he hadn't been itching to do it anyway after his time at C-Sec. Following someone whose law was no law at all was ultimately very easy to do. At first he had thought her style appallingly familiar and intrusive, and then he saw it as she saw it. It was an open line of communication where she was able to determine location, disposition and need in battle. Out of battle, she knew the patterns, needs and wants of her team so they could perform at their best and she had early warning of conflict or issue, and could handle it before it affected a mission.

She was trying to break down the barriers of species communication, allowing herself to be insulted and teased by her team. Morim and he had honed their humor game over time until it was a quick-shot, fast paced dare of wit. She held herself up as a target, he shot her down. That's the way she liked it. It reassured her that his wits were sharp and he was on his game. Most people weren't up to it on that level. Tali was in awe of her. Kaidan was intimidated by and attracted to her, and so was Liara. Wrex took the invitation for informality to be crude and abrasive, and Morim just shrugged it off, even seeming to appreciate Wrex for his predictability. She got more out of her team by knowing them, knowing their reactions, and breaking down regimental discipline into something else. She leaped into fire and she inspired people to pull her out of it when she went too far. She used what she had to her best advantage. 

He’d told her she looked lovely and she essentially just agreed with him. He supposed he’d have responded the same way if she’d complimented his marksmanship. Yes, of course. She took her beauty or her skill for granted, not worthy of comment, no more worthy of mention than sand on a beach.

As much as he’d like to stay as part of her crew, he’d made a plan and it was of use to pursue it, particularly since she had no command currently. He’d left the Normandy and had hoped that would change something in how she was permitted to see him. The main change he made in his plans was assuming they would work together in the future. They were both good at what they did, and together there was a synergy. She appreciated him as a team mate, even valued him over others. He was in her confidence and she counted on him to get things done. He couldn’t navigate the human nuances of speaking sexually, valuing skill and encouraging intimacy and then leaving it at that yet. He’d never been interested in a human, but she had all the right signals. Only the caution of not being like Kaidan or Liara kept him firmly on the side of the line he was on. He had time. He'd figure it out eventually. He wouldn't push the issue. Yet. Someday the odds would be 51% in his favor. He would play to his strengths as she played to hers.

On the Citadel, this lack of ego was being used against her. She had a party for Ashley, therefore she was frivolous and attention seeking. She went after Saren, therefore she provoked him into attacking the Citadel. She had involved members of different species in her crew, treating them with respect and inclusion, and therefore she betrayed her own species, or had certain members of other species as pets. That particular line of rumor was gaining strength, getting uglier and developing sexual embellishments. Casual sex between Turians was not stigmatized as long as neither of the Turians were bonded to another. As it never happened, it wasn’t an issue, unlike the human equivalent of being married and unfaithful. Turian and human sex was new over the past decades, and definitely stigmatized by both humans and Turians. Allergic reactions between the species could result in dramatic death without precaution. People driven to try interspecies sex because of its edgy rebellion also tended to veer toward violence. Most Turians were offended by the sexual behavior of humans, having discovered that such a thing as rape existed. Some Turians that tended toward the lawless began to embrace the idea of rape of humans. That bit of social evolution was putting an ugly sheen on any relationship Morim had with him. 

He could try to protect her from that speculation, treat her with deference and respect, but he knew that everything could and would be twisted into something ugly. Her lipstick mark on his forehead, entirely unintentional on her part, was turned into some sort of brand of ownership in whispers.

He wasn't sure she wasn't attracted to him. For now he'd just watch. He was sure Kaidan had never heard a comment about his biotics making her nipples hard. According to quite a few citizens of the Normandy and the Citadel, Kaidan was a very attractive man. Morim treated Kaidan carefully, as she would a child. For now he was content to let things continue, let her feel comfortable with him, free to tell him anything. She was different with him than she was with other people. That was a certainty. When she spoke to others, she turned to business, her face closed, her humor was hidden or absent, the light in her eyes replaced by calculation. She would test people’s senses of humor a few times, and if they didn’t want to play, she’d refine her language and match their tone. She appeared sexually unavailable, but that just made him want to convince her to be available. Somehow. He decided she was ignorant or defiant of both Turian and human customs and that he couldn't define her actions according to what was expected. He enjoyed her company, more than he'd enjoyed anybody's company. He wanted to see what was going to happen next. He liked watching, being present, being available to her when she called, and enjoying the fact that she called nobody else. 

He was enjoying her ignorance, in his own way. It was refreshing. He probably could have told her he’d like to touch the hollow of her throat and she’d say “It’s true, I have a very nice throat.” and continue with her previous sentence. If they were out at a bar, he’d discovered that it was easy to keep her to himself. Her ease with him telegraphed to others that she was with him. If he adjusted his own body language slightly, he could keep it that way. He could keep people from approaching her if he chose. He didn’t even feel bad about doing it, because her response to people approaching her sexually was always rejection. She’d be kind or she’d be firm or she’d be funny, but it was always rejection. He kept her from having to repeat herself, kept their conversations from being interrupted. Women and men approached him when he was alone, which she noticed, but she wasn’t jealous, she seemed to want to set him up with someone. By this point she was so clueless he could flat out mess with her. As a bonus, she enjoyed being messed with. He remembered a conversation they’d had while getting progressively drunker at some bar or another.

Shepard had said “You know, you don’t have to stay with my lame ass, why don’t you leave with one or seven of the women that are hoping for some Garrus?”

Garrus had smiled and taken another sip “I like your lame ass, Morim, don’t worry about me.”

Shepard had said “Dammit, man, you were on a ship for a year, you saved a lot of people. You deserve nookie. Go forth and nook!”

Garrus had laughed and responded “I don’t see you nooking.”

Shepard had snorted “Nope. Not me. Don’t get me wrong, I like sex and all, but I have fewer opportunities than you appear to have. Plus, there’s the fact that I’m just not interested what with all the death about to happen to everyone. My obsessions lie elsewhere. Can you see me meeting a guy right now? Before they got to my bra I bet anything I’d have said something about a Reaper. I’d kill the mood. No reason to do that to an unsuspecting citizen. With my luck, he’d be a reporter anyway. But you, you should make some women happy, man.”

Garrus had paused a moment and said “You know what I like about you, Morim?”

Morim had asked dutifully “What?”

Garrus had replied “You’re really, really stupid sometimes. Unreservedly and without apology, really stupid.”

Shepard had laughed “I know, right? Okay, I’m sorry. What were we saying before? Before I was monumentally stupid?”

The idea of trying to navigate a relationship right now was out of the question. She was busy with plans. The media was busy trying to tear her down and using him as the means to do that. They needed to show that he was not her pet and she was not his Kelitren, an ugly Turian word he’d heard enough of lately just near the edge out of his hearing. Kelitren was a Turian dish of fermented meat in a fragile wrapper. Street food. Something cheap, messy, easily devoured, and then the wrapper discarded. 

He had an opportunity to publically define their relationship and change the narrative, so he would take it. There was a Turian reception on the Presidium, and Morim had been invited. He was expected to attend. She’d called him to confirm he was going.

Shepard: “There’s a Turian…thing.”

Garrus: “You mean like me?”

Shepard: “No, a boring thing. A reception, I think?”

Garrus: “At the Presidium embassy, yes. You’re going?”

Shepard: “Only if you are.”

Garrus: “I’m expected to attend. I think it’s mostly photo opportunities, and a chance for Turian command can make it look like humans and Turians can get along and shoot things together, even if we can’t eat the same food.”

Shepard: “Okay, if you weren’t already going, I was going to ask you to escort me so I don’t screw it up insulting Turian flower arrangements or something.”

Garrus: “Good call. You have no idea how many wars have been started by flower arrangements. We take that stuff seriously, the rases and the lellacs.”

Shepard: “Roses and lilacs?”

Garrus: “See, you said it wrong. That’s war right there.”

Shepard: “I’m screwed.”

Garrus: “It’ll be fine.”

Shepard: “The Alliance has delivered a gown. A gown. I’m going to trip.”

Garrus: “You’re not going to trip. Well, you might, and I might laugh. I swear after I finish laughing, I’ll help you up.”

Shepard: “I’ve changed my mind. You might trip.”

Garrus: “Remember that whole thing about not starting a war?”

Shepard: “So it’s really just a Spectre parade. Well, a Spectre and a prospective Spectre. A proSpectre.”

Garrus: “You think you’re funny, but I’m no longer under your command. I don’t have to laugh at your crappy jokes, Shepard.”

Shepard: “I’m hilarious. You know it. Can we arrive together? Please? I won’t trip you.”

Garrus: “Promise.”

Shepard: “I promise.”

Garrus: “Okay. You’ll be fine and you won’t start a war, neither of us will trip and I won’t let you die of poisoning.”

Shepard: “Right, so boring Turian thing.”

Garrus: “Right.”

Shepard: “A gown, Garrus.”

Garrus: “Leave the guns at home.”

Shepard: “There has to be a place for a holster. Somewhere.”

Garrus: “Goodbye, Shepard.”

Shepard: “Goodbye, Garrus.”

At this rate, there was no need to tell her he enjoyed her company, not as long as she kept making clear that she enjoyed his.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

They met at the transport stand and walked up together, Morim had hooked her arm through his. Her hand was resting on his arm plates. It wasn't exactly his hand on her skin, but it was the reverse, a step closer. She looked regal in a long gown of copper silk that brought out the lighter highlights in her hair, which was coiled on her head elaborately. Her makeup was severe. Her already pale skin was paler and less translucent, with dramatic eye and lip makeup but otherwise no color on her cheeks, leaving her cheekbones to cast shadows. She looked like a marble sculpture in transformation, coming to life beginning at her mouth and eyes. He amended his earlier thought. She didn’t just look regal, she was regal. He had tried not to disappoint the event, and had some formal wear to break out of storage. It was a stylized draped and tailored blue and ivory jacket that skimmed the sides of his sternum blade and exposed the ridges of chest, arms and carapace over pants with cutaways that had the same effect on his leg ridges and spurs. He felt naked without his visor, so the rest hardly mattered.

The Presidium was lined with reporters, and she ignored their questions as they passed.

“Commander Shepard, do you still insist that the Reapers are a threat, or are you going to admit that you concocted that entire story to keep yourself from being tried at court martial?”

“Shepard, are you still a Commander? The Alliance has paperwork pending on a lawyer’s desk to indict you for theft and fraud. What do you have to say about that?”

“Commander Shepard, this is a Turian event. You saved the Turian Council member and you’re on the arm of a Turian. Are you also in the pocket of a Turian? You’ve betrayed the human race, killing Ashley Williams and wiping out a large part of the Alliance fleet in this sector. When will you answer for that?”

Shepard’s hand tightened on his arm, but this wasn’t a shock to either of them. They’d both heard these accusations and worse. It would have been nice to kill a few reporters, but it was better to remain the Turian whose arm she was on, and not give them any attention at all. 

He leaned down slightly to her ear and said “Commander Shepard, body parts belonging to reporters have been found all over the Presidium. Where did that gun come from? Is that holster designer?”

Her response for the crowd was a regal nod, and he was rewarded with a slight tremble of her arm and gown as she tried to keep from laughing.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She was infuriated on Garrus’s behalf. She’d made him come to this damned thing with her and he was getting splattered with the mud they were flinging at her. Not that he couldn’t handle it. She just didn’t want him to have to handle it. She hadn’t looked at the reporters because she didn’t want to decide to track them down later. It would be funnier if it weren’t so dangerous. She couldn’t afford to ignore this for long. Appreciation for her efforts was giving way to resentment and excuses for species hatred. She knew the Council, the Alliance and Turian Command had issues with her and weren't above some propaganda to solidify their political cause. She couldn’t triangulate damage because it was coming from every direction potentially. She knew it was the right decision to be here with him, but it was bringing him into yet another firefight, this time without armor or weapons, because she needed him.

Tonight all she was expected to do was to hold up a dress and not break anything, and she’d already virtually broken the “not break anything” rule in her head by imagining dead people.

After formal introductions on entering the reception, she chose a table in the corner, with no windows behind her. She was always twitchy when her back was exposed in unfamiliar circumstances, and Garrus joined her.

Shepard sighed “So, we hold court here and then run away? Can I run away?”

Garrus shook his head “No running. Not in those heels. High probability of tripping. I’m here primarily to prevent that.”

Shepard said “Do you know anybody here?”

Garrus nodded. “Yes, there are a lot of people from C-Sec.”

Shepard said “Okay, so it’s a siege situation. We can do that. All we need is ammo.”

Garrus said “Right, I’ll go get some drinks.”

Shepard laughed and then relaxed after his casual tone made clear to her she was overreacting. She would manage until he got back. She remembered she’d been invited for species outreach and she wasn’t going to be ritually dismembered. Unless Turians did that, in which case, Garrus probably would have warned her. 

Garrus seemed entirely relaxed, as usual. She was feeling threatened on several levels she couldn't define, and a few that she could. She should shake off the reporter questions. Everything she'd said or done lately, kind or irritable or just standing around breathing had been whipped into some sort of drama in the media. She took a deep breath, decided to be on her best behavior, and let the rest go. There were definitely threats, but she’d have to take them as they came.

Garrus was returning with the drinks, a Turian woman walking with him. Shepard felt out of place, the same way Garrus had likely felt out of place on the Normandy, surrounded by faces and customs that were a mystery. Together they looked…they looked amazing. Garrus was striking. He was always handsome to her, and right now he radiated strength and purpose. The paint on the female Turian's face was a deep purple in fine feather sprays, her face more curved in line than Garrus’s, with a long mandible that flowed back from her jaw into a graceful inward arch to frame her face on either side. Her gown was a rich silver with accents of what looked to be some sort of leather in the same purple on her face, cutaways on her gown were focused more on the angled plates of her upper chest and waist, her skirt a fall of separated strands of fabric that allowed her legs to move freely, shifting over her spurs and knees. Well, hell. Why didn't I get that dress? That looks so much more practical.

Seeing them together gave her a pang of something she didn't have time to label before they reached her.

Garrus introduced her as Sildiv, a member of C-Sec that he had worked with on several occasions. Sildiv stood rather formally, and Morim had to remind herself that based on the rest of the people here, it wasn’t just formal, it was Turian, and she was reminded of Garrus when they'd first met.

Shepard said "Please, Sildiv, call me Morim and join us, I'd love to hear about C-Sec." She imagined she wouldn't be getting any wild stories, and she was right. Sildiv sat, and to Shepard's relief, did exactly as she'd asked politely, and they talked about C-Sec, promotions, deaths and mission stats, catching Garrus up on things he’d missed.

Garrus's humor was gone, replaced by formal purpose, and Shepard considered how far she'd taken him out of his comfort zone and how well he’d adapted. She'd take his cue, do things his way. She owed him far more than that. She straightened her shoulders and adjusted her posture, trying to adopt small body language cues in the style of the Turians subtly without appearing to mimic, which might make them think she was mocking them. She didn't have a mandible, but she would make do with some sincere effort. She pared her language down, removed humor, idiom and swears, asked few questions, interrupted not at all and remained focused. She answered briefly and with succinct accent to questions asked of her, trying to front load the information requested in few words. It was basically small talk, no politics. No accusations or angling. She liked Sildiv.

The drink he’d brought her was nonalcoholic, which was another helpful touch, because drunk and nervous was not a good public relations strategy.

Looking at Garrus and Sildiv speak, Morim was reminded of the first impression of seeing them together. Garrus should be happy. Garrus should have someone. He was back on the Citadel, and now he had a chance to be back with his people. She had almost gotten him killed so many times, it seemed a miracle he was alive at all.

This she could do, or at least she could make tonight about him, and not her. The idea of Garrus having someone, being with someone, was a captivating idea. She lost track of conversation for a moment, imagining Sildiv and Garrus together, and then got a little stuck, because she had no idea how Turians did things. Then she decided that was for the best, because really, although it might be an excellent opportunity to ask about such things in this setting, it likely wasn’t the wisest use of her time. Remember war, she reminded herself. Do not ask the Turians about sexual behavior. That shouldn’t be too hard to remember as a rule.

Garrus happy would be nice, though.

Music began to play, instruments Morim didn’t know. It was mostly percussion. She turned to look at the source.

Ohshitdancing.

There was dancing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Well, nobody could make her do it. She could just keep her ass in her chair.

Couples had begun to head onto the floor, but they didn’t stay couples. Each couple had one female Turian leading onto the floor, their hands clasped. The couples were either two females or a female and a male. Then the group coalesced into a spiral or a starburst or a geometrical shape, breaking back down into couples or individuals and then forming again.

There were limited spots in the growing geometry, and one or two people would be left out of each component of the patterns forming, a line or an arch or a spiral, and those people broke off into couples or individuals on the edges of the design, reintegrating themselves back in on the next pattern. She had no idea how the dance could accommodate so many people and combinations, she didn’t see a repeated pattern. 

Well, that was cool, and very Turian. Everyone part of the whole, supporting the needs of the changing, intricate whole, becoming only couples or individuals as the group required, accepting being in or out with equal grace. The women initiated who participated.

Garrus said “Morim, remember when I told you that Turian art is out in the world? Here is an example of what I meant.”

Morim smiled “It’s beautiful.”

Sildiv stood and offered her hand to Morim and said formally, but kindly “Morim, come be a part.”

Morim’s knees tensed and a chorus of “fuckfuckfuck” went through her head, but it didn’t reach her face. It must have reached at least her eyes, because she saw Garrus lean forward very casually into her line of sight and give her an incremental nod and then focus his eyes on the dance floor. It was the same signal they’d often used to decide what to focus fire on, what to kill in silence, without giving away their position or using their hands.

All right then. For Garrus. She was going to kill it, or it would kill her.

Sildiv held her hand and led her onto the floor, and Morim tried to not sprain her ankles on the high heels or trip on the tight gown. She did stumble a few times, but it wasn’t as intimidating as the thought it might be. She wasn’t anywhere near as graceful as the Turians surrounding her. She felt that the attention was on her but it was benevolent and nurturing, as though this was what they would do for a child, granted a clumsy child, growing up, joining society, learning how to dance. Sildiv’s hand left hers and another Turian took it, and she always had a partner and was not abandoned to the outside, where she would have felt lost entirely, unable to make her way back. 

A Turian woman led Garrus onto the dance floor and he joined the dance, blending in seamlessly with the others. She began to notice personality in each Turian, specific moves they initiated themselves, a style they had developed, showing in their turn, or the way they framed their shoulders or angle of a wrist. Nobody let her step on their toes, though she certainly could have managed several times if they hadn’t been fast enough to steady her balance, help her back on course, be out of her way when she careened in the wrong direction. They were smiling, laughing or encouraging, not insulting or angry. It encouraged her to be smiling and laughing quietly in response. Then she also noticed that although there were many humans and Asari in attendance, she was the only non-Turian in the dance.

Her eyes closed over a slight sting of tears, then she was whirled back out into it, giving herself to the experience. She followed their lead and became a little less clumsy, and she enjoyed every moment of it until the music stopped and the dancers halted. Turians approached her as they left the dance floor back to the table, thanking her for being a part and telling her it was an honor to dance with her.

She could only say, and not enough times, that it was an honor for her as well.

Sitting back down at the table, music continued, but the dancing was not as formal, and there were couples that remained couples, and individuals. Asari and humans were dancing, as well as Turians.

It had broken down her sense of separation to be in that dance, and Turians came up to her and to Garrus, introduced themselves, thanking her for attending, thanking her for being a part, thanking her for her work. She thought that only people that she had danced with had put a hand on her off the floor in welcome and inclusion.

Garrus was asked to dance the rest of the night, female Turians approaching him before he made it back to his chair sometimes, and he graciously accommodated them all.

Morim wasn’t left alone, but she wasn’t asked to dance again. She was engaged in conversation for the evening, almost exclusively from the dancers, recognizing faces and clothes, trying to remember the names that went with them. Her eye would stray to see Garrus dancing, and she thought over and over again…he should be happy. Was he interested in any of them? Was he bonded with any of them? Had he slept with any of them? That man can dance, and he should be happy.

A few tears stung at the edges of her eyes again, but she turned back to the Turian talking to her and listened to the group around her discuss unimportant things, including her as they could.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He thought the night was a success. The dancing had been a surprise. He might have expected it, might have warned her, but she had been nervous enough already. She’d accepted Sildiv’s invitation, as he’d hoped, and the only problem would have come if Morim herself had asked Garrus to dance. After his time with her, he assumed the chance of that was zero percent if not a negative. Turian tradition was that the women asked, and as long as she didn’t ask him and he didn’t ask her, this would show to the Turians at least that their relationship was only professional. Had he asked her, it would have been worse than if she had asked him, because he would have been abandoning Turian tradition for a human custom, inexcusably rude. 

He’d danced with as many Turian women as he could, and enough of them asked for him to make his point. He’d been sexually involved casually with most of them, including Sildiv, and it simply appeared to everyone that he was doing what Turian command wanted, making his way back to Citadel life, proving he was Spectre material among other Spectres. Morim had no idea how many other Spectres were in the room, and he would keep it that way also. Let her think that she was the guest of honor. To cynical Turian eyes, what had appeared to happen was that she was the only human Spectre in a room populated with Turian Spectres, isolated and to a large extent dependent on their whims, a glaring singularity among the established pattern, not likely to be repeated. To kind Turian eyes, she had been absolutely charming in dancing, and willing to accept her social and skill disadvantage with good grace. To everybody he had appeared to be a Turian among other Turians, welcoming and polite to the human with whom he had served, but only so far.

Morim had relaxed and spent the evening in dignified conversation with many of the people that might have been willing to dismiss her as a human loose cannon, her personal touch and presence making them more willing to see her as an ally.

That’s my girl. 

He wasn’t surprised to think it any more.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Shepard

A few days after the Turian event, she’d done some reassessing of her options. The media had given a good review of the evening, thankfully. The pressure was slightly off, but she was aware changing circumstances were going to dictate changing strategy. The focus was back on her being a Spectre, on Garrus being a Spectre, something that was neutral territory. She’d been trying to think of what she could do to get the Normandy back. She should never have given her back or relinquished command. Well, that wasn’t true. She couldn’t have just taken off with the ship. As much as she’d wanted to, she’d done the right thing, the only thing that would give her the chance to get back in the fight with the Alliance’s support or the Citadel’s. It hadn't occurred to her that the Normandy would be taken from her, but it should have occurred to her. She'd assumed they'd be right back out on the Normandy in days, with full support. She had underestimated the denial capacity of frightened people. The Council was letting people go back to sleep like the night watchman saying all is clear. All was not fucking clear. 

Everybody was waiting for something. She was waiting for more attacks. The Council was waiting until she was marginalized, and the Alliance was waiting to see what happened and as a result, what to do with her. Anderson was on the Council, but he was swamped with the backlash.

She couldn't compete with government and political entities that had the ear of reporters who wanted to hear a better story than she had to present. She only had the truth. They had better press releases and an easier message to swallow, and it was that simple. Her word of mouth couldn’t compete and eventually arguments broke out around her, about her, for her and against her. The arguments had lately been leaning more toward brawls. 

She was cast as the strong but dumb military hero and the Council as the wise peace bringers. She had no ship, and even if she got the Normandy back, no Garrus. 

Once it had occurred to her that she might be staying on the Citadel long term, she wanted to talk to Garrus about strategy. She had been out for a long walk, disguised enough to not look like Commander Shepard to avoid reporters. She was walking aimlessly, and she saw a place that advertised Turian and human food, along with some others she didn’t recognize. She invited Garrus to dinner on impulse. She really just wanted to see him as often as she could before there were no more opportunities to see him.

After getting inside, though, she was thinking that perhaps human food wasn't really on the menu. "Humbererg" was listed as an entrée. Was that a typo or a legal release of responsibility from future poisoning? She decided against anything claiming to be meat.

When Garrus arrived, Morim said blandly "Don't get the Humbererg. I think it's probably made from recycled Geth."

He looked around after taking a seat and shook his head "This place is terrible. Is this your idea? It's just for the people going in and out of ports who don't care about food poisoning and can't press charges after they've gone through the nearest relay."

She sighed "Bad idea. I get it. Should have let you pick the place."

He said “I would have redirected if you’d given me more time, but this was sudden.” He ordered two drinks for them, pre packaged and therefore theoretically safe.

She smiled. "You look good, Garrus, it's great to see you."

He said "Of course I look good. You look…human." He teased.

She laughed, but didn't argue. Working out the number of times he was hit on in her presence, the long glances from speculative eyes, he was a Turian 10. By her calculations she was a human 6 at best. She wasn't going to compete about relative attraction. He was good at keeping score on head shots and bar hits. There was something about him that made her almost invisible when she was with him. She really liked that kind of invisible. In astrophysics terms, he was Jupiter, and all the meteors went to him, protecting her, the Earth in this metaphor. She got to be in the Goldilocks zone of having fewer things crash into her, either in a fight or socially. She’d begun to wonder if he was already bonded to someone, the way that he was unavailable and invulnerable to flirting, innuendo or blatant proposition. She couldn’t bring herself to ask a genuinely intrusive question so she asked an outrageous one. "Garrus, how many Hanar propositions have you gotten since we got back?"

He pretended to think. "You mean today or total?"

She was about to compare how few she’d gotten to how many he had, but she paused as the waiter returned. After the Batarian put the drinks on the table, there were two very loud gunshots and the table was suddenly splattered with blood. Red. Her blood. It took her a second to focus to identify it, and then she couldn't focus any more. She said "Ah, fuck…why is it…always a Batarian…" and slid sideways, leaving two wide streaks of arcing blood along the back of the booth seat.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

The Batarian had surprise on his side, but Morim had Garrus. Before the gun had turned his way, Garrus had grabbed the Batarian's wrist and pulled him forward and against the edge of the table, breaking his forearm at a 90 degree wrong-way angle. Garrus took the pistol and shot the Batarian in one eye, then another for insurance. He searched the room briefly for a further threat or partner, then took an Omni Tool snapshot of the Batarian's appearance, searched his pockets, grabbed everything in them.

He lifted Morim as carefully as he could and was relieved to still hear her heartbeat over the frantic wash of his own. He started to carry her out, and then backtracked to the table for a few crucial seconds, grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to use them to stanch the bleeding of the worst wound, her abdomen. She also had a hole in her shoulder, but that wasn't near anything vital if he remembered his human anatomy. The napkins did nothing to stop the blood, so he grabbed the pistol again and shot it straight up until it overheated and then used the body of the gun to cauterize the wound on her abdomen.

"That's gonna leave a mark." He observed, his voice steady enough to convince himself that she was not going to die. He carried her out. Nobody tried to stop him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Shepard woke up in unfamiliar circumstances and tried to sit up, immediately regretting the impulse. It felt like her gut was singed, inside and out, with someone actively sewing her shut with burning knitting needles. She felt like throwing up. Lying back down made it no better. She tried to remember what in hell had happened to put her here, and where here was, but the inside of her head was filled with pain and new detonations of bright fire that licked away at her concentration and left her vision blurred. She heard footsteps and was afraid suddenly, the impulse to run away, to hide, clawing from the base of her brain, amorphous and imperative. Cold panic sliced through her and she looked around, seeing a door but not knowing what a door was, seeing a floor but not knowing what a floor was.

A blur of blue and bone reached for her and she tried to pull away ineffectively, hands gently holding her upper arms, trying to…she didn’t know. Trying to…hurt her? A voice cut through her panic. “Venri, you're safe.” She responded less to the word and more to the tone. She knew that voice. Safety came from that voice. The blur of blue and bone was…Garrus. She forgot the name and then remembered it. Garrus. Panic leached away and she listened. “Venri, you’re in pain. I can help. You need to lie still or you’ll bleed again.” She briefly remembered being shot and then it was gone again. Her eyes didn’t focus but she stopped thrashing. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Garrus realized she was listening, trying to hear him. He'd had a contact he trusted to keep her mouth shut operate on Morim to the best of her ability, especially with the size of the bribe he'd provided, but she’d lost a lot of blood. He'd moved her from the primary surgery location and then broken into an unoccupied apartment, due to stay that way as the owner was off the Citadel, which he learned through C-Sec channels. He knew not to take her to a hospital on the Citadel. How many indoctrinated Batarians were there out there, waiting to shoot her? It didn’t even take indoctrination right now. All you needed was someone with a grudge for no real reason except that the Council was a group of cowards willing to make her a target and the Alliance was doing nothing to defend her. It wasn’t paranoia to believe she wouldn’t survive long if it were known. A convenient riot, a lethal addition to her medications, the list of possible ways she could die made him certain of his choices. Her stupid choice of restaurant proved she knew nothing about how things worked on the Citadel and it was up to him to protect her. A waiter shooting her meant planning. They were last minute plans, so her plans were known in real time and she was a target. She was under surveillance. He’d tried to reach Dr. Chakwas, but she was not on the Citadel. He’d also considered Dr. Michel, but that would put her in more danger than he was willing to risk. He did what he could while she was in surgery to destroy the evidence of the attack. There wasn't much in the way of surveillance, a few cameras, which were easy to hack and alter. No alarm was raised because the place was nearly empty and a shooting wasn't all that unusual near the ports anyway to the average citizen, as long as it wasn't about them. The owners had probably dumped the body…or recycled the body…considering the food there, and then cleaned up the blood and went on with their day.

After he'd done what he could in damage control, he’d disabled Shepard's Omni Tool’s tracking and his, having them both give "maintenance downtime " messages to incoming query. She'd joked once offhand on a mission together when someone else was inevitably unconscious that her Omni Tool biometric bypass password was "Fuck_Off_Garrus." It worked. At first he couldn’t calculate the whimsy or weird that had made her do that, but then he imagined she thought maybe he’d need to use it. He’d have to ask her later when she wasn’t dead. Or not. Maybe he understood. Maybe she’d imagined this or something like it, maybe she’d thought about it enough that it was a perfect and necessary approach. Don't raise the alarm, but plan for it. Make it casual, make it outrageous, make it private. Enough to not be heard by another, enough to be dismissed as a joke, enough to be remembered later in emergency. She didn’t know his password and that bothered him now.

Her shoulder was fine, but abdominal wounds were painful and dangerous. He was drowning her in sedatives, antibiotics and anesthetic, but she surfaced unpredictably. He knew the right doses in theory, but he was suspecting that she had an atypical nervous system. He almost laughed. “Atypical.” Biotics able to fry groups. Warp was her favorite and obviously easily called to memory when she felt threatened. He’d rather not aggravate that part of her again. He’d be unwilling to fight back and then dead. He couldn't restrain her biotics, only convince her not to use them. He hadn’t thought to get paralytic agents and wasn’t sure he’d use them if he had them, he’d have to check her breathing by the minute if she were deathly still, then there was the idea that she could be in pain and paralyzed, unable to express it. That was unbearable as an option. 

She was a source of delirious, potentially lethal projectiles. This was an ongoing issue. Raising his voice was the wrong choice, it made her more dangerous. He was lucky she had blasted a hole in the wall and not him. He’d been knocked unconscious once and she’d torn open her wound trying to get out of bed. Fortunately she had gotten to the point where Medigel stabilized her. He couldn’t use physical restraints, he’d tried only once. They made her frantic and she’d thrashed and tried to chew them off when she became aware of them. Chew. He could use help, but he didn’t trust the Alliance, the Council or in this case even Turians. Not about her. He couldn’t risk her being found by the wrong people and the odds are that the majority of the people were the wrong people. They’d take her to a hospital, they’d take her to the wrong Alliance vessel, she’d be news, she’d be helpless, she’d be dead. She had more value right now as a martyr to many.

She was getting better, she was getting stronger, but that only meant that she experienced more of the pain he was trying to spare her and her warp aim was getting more accurate. If she followed his voice he could work with that. He could give her more pain killers but let the sedation wear off and check to see if she could eat or drink. She probably didn’t need intravenous medication or nutrition any more if she could swallow on her own. She was healing quickly enough that drinking wouldn’t kill her. He hoped.

He spoke softly to her, as he would a child, letting her know he was there and where he was. She’d relax and trust him if there were things he could do that were easy to demonstrate, “Lie back.” “Hold still” and “I’m here” with his hand on her arm. The next step in her healing was more complicated, eating and trying to get her to talk. He’d learned to be careful and not block the light, it would startle her. He sat down next to her on the bed and talked to her softly, telling her what he was doing, that he was there, that he wanted to help her feel better, that she needed to try to drink.

She allowed him to lift her onto his lap, holding her cradled against him as carefully as he could, watching for signs of pain he could prevent. He warned her that he was going to give her a dose of medication and she trusted him, docile and as attentive as possible while drowning in pain and drugs.

Spirits, she was fragile. Glass cannon. That was the human phrase to describe her. Poetic. Turians would never imagine a glass cannon. So much power in such a tiny, delicate package, bound to explode. He set her sideways on his lap to be able to look at her face, but she moved until she was resting her head on his chest, her hand over his heart. He offered her a spoon of water and she didn’t respond. He ran a finger over her lips to part them and tipped the water in, just a little bit. Water dribbled out the side of her mouth, but not all of it, she swallowed the rest to his relief. To encourage her he said “Yes, Venri, good” and his hand traced the path of her throat with his palm and she sighed and snuggled closer to him. He finally registered his hand against her skin. He'd wished for it. Be careful what you wish. He held still and thought about what he’d just said to her. He'd been calling her Venri. He wasn’t speaking to her as a child, but as a lover. Venri meant 'chosen purpose' in Turian. It was an endearment intended for the life-bonded.

He tilted his head down to kiss the top of her head and took a deep breath and thought "I am so very fucked."

It was done and he knew it. He was viciously and irrevocably in love with her and his body and mind were transforming with the choice. Whether she knew it or not, she’d led him down this path as a Turian woman would. Gaining his respect. Fighting alongside him. Inspiring him to protect her. Being protected by her. Had she been Turian, they would have spent the last two months in each other’s beds, testing a potential for always. He would have been calm, slow and patient with that choice if he hadn’t been forced to be in constant, intimate contact with her, alone and helpless, heightening every instinct to protect her at all costs. She was curled against him with trust that humbled him, and she did it unconsciously. He was primed, and she was ignorant. Unable to make a choice together, he’d make it alone because there was no other choice to be made. He was bonding to her, halfway there without him knowing it, no real choice of reversing it. It wouldn't have happened this way with a Turian woman, because he would have gotten a distinct "no" from her somewhere. He realized he had asked Morim to dance, and she had danced for him. Somehow it was better than dancing with him. She had given him nothing but yes, unreservedly. They were a mess of custom and expectation, and he couldn’t bring himself to want it any other way right now.

It had been easy to admire her. It had been easy to protect her. It was going to be easy to love her.

It wasn't going to be as easy to not be loved back, but it wasn't her fault or burden and he wouldn't make her carry it for him. Maybe someday he could do something about it, but not now.

Right now he just had to make it easy for her to be alive.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The worst was past and he had settled into an easier phase of caring for her. She was calm around him, and he read to her to keep it that way. He even recorded the sound of his voice on a loop and turned it on so he could leave her briefly to do some research, make a call, take a shower or eat. He bathed her, washed her strange hair, fed her and kept her out of pain and calm as much as he could. Her color was getting better. With the injury, and without her makeup, she started out with a grayish cast to her skin, alarming. He'd watched her face and worried about the spots there, wondering if it was a problem, some sort of symptom, and then he realized after looking it up, she had freckles across her nose and upper cheeks. He'd had to look up other "symptoms." She snored. She drooled in her sleep. Common, silly things that reassured him as her color came back slowly, tinting her lips with a delicate pink. Very much unlike the makeup she wore, freckles covered and lips darker. Her unpainted eyelids had tracings of blue veins he could see on her lids as she slept. The inside of her wrist had veins of the same color. He'd checked her pulse often enough on the inside of her wrist, and now he just held her hand, the tips of his fingers held there to reassure him not about the rate of her pulse, but that it was there at all sometimes.

He’d found some reading material on her Omni Tool, assuming that’s what she would use to entertain herself in her spare time. He transferred it to his own and tried to choose what to read to her, though it didn’t really matter. He could have read from the user’s manual of the Mako, but he tried to pick something more entertaining.

He chose a novel from a popular Asari writer, he’d seen ads up for her new release on the Citadel.

The first signs of rational thought happened when he closed his eyes for a moment and she’d said “And then what happened?”

He kept reading until the end of the chapter. She fell back asleep. He began to feel as though maybe she’d be okay.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She was going to be okay if he didn’t kill her first. After he’d kept her alive, she was ready to get herself killed again immediately as far as he could tell. He’d taken to sleeping in the same bed with her because he could tell if she was moving or restless more easily than if he was in a chair.

When she finally came to, he woke up because she was poking him in the shoulder. She lifted her shirt to look at her dressed wound, tilted it toward him and said “What the hell happened? Are we married now? Is this some Turian honeymoon thing?”

He almost laughed because it probably was some kind of Turian honeymoon thing, yes. Seeing her obnoxious, defying the pain, lifted his deeper worries, that her blood loss or his care had resulted in permanent damage.

He considered his responses and said "Yes, it was a lovely ceremony and you wore blue. If you don't remember, it's because you missed it all for a shot at crap food at the docks and you were unconscious for the fun parts."

She was back to herself. She remembered the waiter and remembered the pain, and asked questions about what had happened since. She unfortunately didn’t agree that she was in any danger. Well, not any danger that she couldn’t handle.

The shift back to her making unreasonable calls he had to justify any way he could was familiar and this he could do. “Morim, I just want to make sure that you are transferred somewhere that your security is a priority. A hospital wasn’t enough. I know you’re accustomed to people trying to kill you, but I can’t let you walk out of here without a debriefing of what is going on in the world while I was trying to keep you from bleeding to death.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and then winced as it pulled on her shoulder, then said “Fair enough. Thank you for that not bleeding to death thing.”

Garrus relaxed slightly. “You’re welcome. Think. You were shot by a Batarian in a public place. Indoctrination, species reasons, war reasons, the fact that you’ve killed enough Batarians that it could just be someone’s nephew. We don’t know what threat level we have, except to say that it caught you by surprise.”

She tilted her head back and said “Okay. You’ve had two weeks to think about this. I’m sorry if I’m being unreasonable. I want to DO something. But you’re right, I don’t know what to do.”

Garrus continued “Reapers are the big concern, but we can’t get to them if we don’t deal with the petty static of the myriad reasons people want to kill you. Let me do some work with the C-Sec databases. I have access. I’ll find out. I have the Batarian’s IDs and I have authorization to do something about tracking him down.”

Shepard nodded. “Thank you, Garrus.” Her voice was stark. 

Garrus said quietly “I’ve been thinking of how you can get the Normandy back. You are napalm here on the Citadel, everything you touch starts to burn. Given the proper incentive, the Alliance would prefer you were out there rather than here.”

Shepard raised a brow “Proper incentive?”

Garrus continued “In a lot of people’s minds, you and the Normandy are linked. You are still a hero, politically inconvenient or not. If you promise to get the hell off the Citadel and stop pushing for a groundswell of popular support, I bet the Citadel would finance your run and the Alliance would throw a party.”

Shepard sighed “So I could get her back if I promised to be good.”

Garrus laughed “I don’t think anybody would believe that, but you could promise to be useful.”

Shepard considered “Useful to the Alliance right now is playing down the Reapers and getting back to business as usual.”

Garrus agreed “Yes. But you’d have your ship. You could follow orders, but no matter where you go, you know you are going to run into Reapers eventually." 

Shepard understood. "It's not about the orders given, it's about how I execute those orders."

Garrus nodded. "You’re still a Spectre and nobody will take that from you if you play this right. The Alliance doesn’t want to lose its human Spectre and the Council doesn’t want to look like it’s punishing you for saving their lives. It doesn’t matter where they send you. Just get into position. I’ll stay here and do some digging on threats from the Citadel, do my job, become a Spectre and then once we have some more solid information, we can do something about it. If you have the Normandy, I don’t need a ship of my own. Swing by and pick me up.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She realized that Garrus’s way of doing this was the wisest, if not easiest. She would need to swallow mountains of pride and purpose and put her dutiful face on. It would suck, but she could do it.

After talking, she was exhausted. Garrus had convinced her to stay until they finished planning, at least. Another night of sleep would help. Events would move her forward again. She refused the pain killers and that was a huge mistake, so she stayed mostly awake, thinking, wheels spinning with no traction. Garrus had watched over her, kept her safe for two weeks, during which she had been a huge liability, she knew. He hadn't mentioned it, but there was a hole in the wall. When she'd been training at biotics, when she'd had nightmares when she was younger, she'd made holes like that. She might have just unconsciously knocked him on his ass physically and professionally. She wondered if this would cost him his slot at C-Sec, at Spectre training. Her naïve PR attempt cost them time, cost them effort. She was less angry at the Batarian and more at herself for thinking she could just friendly her way out of a problem of this magnitude. She was appalled at herself for involving Garrus.

She was not a politician. She wasn’t even a street-smart citizen if the streets were the Citadel. She couldn’t do this with a frontal assault and it put Garrus in direct fire to compensate for her dumbass call.

She didn’t deserve him. She knew it in her bones. She wasn’t one to throw away luck though. She didn’t deserve him, and she was lucky to have him. She would get out of his…not his hair…his fringe. She’d get out of his fringe and let him become the unbelievably talented officer that deserved his own command she knew him to be. Hell, maybe she should hand the Normandy over to him when he gained his Spectre status. She bet he would have found a way to keep Ashley alive. Maybe he could have saved the Alliance fleet with better choices along the way. He’d suggested saving them and sacrificing the Council. She should have listened. Maybe she’d see him happy with a woman. Maybe if she kicked Reaper ass they could have kids or adopt kids that would live, not knowing war.

Fuck, everything hurt. Her shoulder, her stomach, her brain. She missed his voice.

Well, she’d better get used to missing him, because she needed to get the hell out of his way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus had a cover story. Being shot in a restaurant wasn’t helpful in terms of political manipulation, and to account for time, he suggested a kidnapping. Garrus found a ship that had had left the Citadel two weeks ago, departure time only slightly after she’d been shot. The ship exploded, so they could use that as a cover. Garrus explained “Commander Shepard had been kidnapped by mercs, hoping to sell her out to slavery.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow “Slavery?”

Garrus nodded “Slavery.”

She snorted. “What the hell kind of crap slave would I make?”

Garrus looked her up and down once and said “I’d go with sex slavery.”

Shepard laughed “Hah. That I want to see.”

Garrus sighed “To make you sympathetic.”

Shepard nodded “Oh, right. Right. Damsel in distress. I’ll get my petticoat.”

Garrus blinked “What the hell is a petti- oh, never mind. Whatever. Slavery. It’s not like you know the details, you were shot being abducted. It’s better if you don’t say much about it.”

Shepard nodded again “Right. Play dumb. Everyone knows I can do that.”

Garrus continued “Through my contacts at C-Sec, I can get an anonymous tip about a kidnapping through a confidential informant. I won't reveal his identity or the entity sent to investigate, both classified as confidential informants. I was unaware it was you until you were located, although I had tried to check in on you at the Citadel and found you missing. I was unavailable while I was looking for you. That accounts for me being gone, that accounts for your injuries. Let’s keep the story simple.”

Shepard said “Okay. Sex slave. Ignorant. Petticoat.”

Garrus said sternly “Shot.”

Shepard said “Right. Shot.”

Garrus continued “I am going to contact Anderson directly and tell him I have cause to believe there are plots to target you on the Citadel. I'll encourage him to get Dr. Chakwas back to the Citadel and on the Normandy to care for you. I don’t want anybody else to know the story, so only Anderson and Chakwas will get the run down. Anderson should be convinced that for your sake, it shouldn’t be made public, and Dr. Chakwas would never tell anybody. You actually being gone for two weeks and having that scar will sell it.”

Shepard said “And my shoulder. My shoulder hurts.”

“Quit whining.” Garrus said in a teasing voice, paused to smile and then said. “I will suggest to Anderson that you be transferred to the Normandy along with your previous crew in order to avoid personnel changes, assuming that people that had traveled with you for a year are the least likely to be compromised. I'll suggest that removing you from the Citadel would be in everyone’s best interests. I'll suggest that your first mission out would be to investigate missing vessels, possible slavery.”

Shepard whistled. “Sneaky.”

Garrus nodded “Hopefully sneaky enough.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was sneaky enough.

Anderson was sympathetic enough to make Shepard feel guilty, which probably added poignancy to her subtle air of brave victim. The pain and her reaction to missing Garrus helped make it appear genuine. She was authorized transfer immediately to the Normandy Med Bay where Garrus escorted her directly to Dr. Chakwas. After Garrus left, promising to check on her soon, Dr. Chakwas tsked over the barbaric care she’d received and did some terrible things that fortunately Shepard was given the good drugs to avoid experiencing. The crew was reassembled hastily and she had her command transferred back to her, to be active as soon as Dr. Chakwas released her, which would be within a few days. The Normandy’s repairs would be done and they’d be off on their way.

When it was time to say goodbye, she smiled and said “I’m going to miss you, Garrus.” and meant “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without the sound of your voice.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Garrus had done some tricky creation of evidence and destruction of evidence. He'd watched, evidence was never submitted from the area where she'd been shot. He could easily divert it or change it if it did. He created identities, time lines and reports, manufactured evidence to establish his location in those two weeks, cleaned up any evidence of the actual event he hadn't caught at first, dodged questions, told lies and applied pressure on Anderson. 

Garrus visited Shepard before they left the Citadel and shared a meal in the mess. No privacy, but they’d done it. She had her ship, he had his path. He would find evidence of indoctrination on the Citadel if it was to be had. He would be the investigative branch of…well, it was really only a fork. Two paths, Garrus and Shepard. The investigative fork of a plan to be in place to take action when action was possible. Save the galaxy, even if the galaxy was home to a lot of assholes.

He greeted the crew, accepted welcome and thanks for returning their Commander safely, and left the Normandy.

He shook her hand, said “Good luck, Commander.” and meant “I will do everything I can to be back by your side.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for kudos and comments, it's a great feeling. There's a dance that goes with it.

Chapter 4

Timeline: Beginning of Mass Effect 2

Meanwhile, on the Normandy:

Shepard: Joker! It’s great to see you, you ready to head out?

Joker: Glad to see they got their shit together and put everybody back on board.

Shepard: I had to do cage fighting to get you back. You’re in high demand. I’ve got new scars. 

Joker: Nice to know you care, Commander. They’re seriously going to send us out on this crap I’ve been reading? 

Shepard: I don’t think you have to worry. Trouble tends to find us. 

Joker: Then let’s go looking.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Morim was dying. Her oxygen had vented and the cold was the only thing she could breathe back into her lungs. Emptiness was the only return. Her lungs were freezing and cracking into shattered pieces as she tried to breathe, then tried not to breathe.

She lost consciousness halfway through thinking “Garrus, if…” 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

She was gone.

He’d seen it on the news. If he’d been her mate, they’d have told him first. He wouldn’t have had to hear it first on the news. People would know that she mattered to him, that he mattered to her, that they had made a choice together. But now she was gone and everything he was working toward was meaningless.

People knew that he knew her, but the sympathy was so pale in magnitude that he found it offensive. “I’m sorry for your loss, Garrus.”

My loss, her loss, our loss. It wasn’t just my loss, and I can’t say why, to anyone, and the only person worth telling was her anyway.

He couldn’t even blame anyone, couldn’t be angry at anybody but himself. He’d put her on that ship. He’d told her to go follow Alliance orders. He might as well have choked the life out of her himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, at a funeral

Tali: Garrus, I don’t know what to say. I want to say something.

Garrus: I know, Tali. And I know you know.

Tali: Do Turians cry?

Garrus: No.

Tali: Quarians do.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

His grief wasn’t for public consumption.

Unfortunately he found reasons to kill almost everyone at her funeral. Especially people who were on the ship with her. Liara, Kaidan…he’d left her with these people. People who failed to save her, or Joker, who had refused to leave…

Of course she’d given her life for Joker. She would never have done any less unless he were there to pull her back, shake sense into her, make her laugh, get her into that fucking escape pod.

People from the Citadel and Alliance spoke of her bravery and he wanted to kill them for not protecting her, not giving her the resources she needed to be alive.

If she’d just…too many ways he saw in his head that would have kept her alive. Many of them ended with Garrus dead and his Venri safe. That would have been a much more satisfactory outcome. Impossible that she didn’t know how much he wanted to make that trade as she died.

Spirits, what he wouldn’t give to hear her laugh.

He avoided shaking hands, because he would have enjoyed crushing their hands to pulp, these people that failed to save her. 

He didn’t speak because he had failed to speak while she was alive, what good would it do her now?

Anger bloomed through the grief at her funeral and after that, anger was all he had left.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus tried to return to work but his motivation was gone. She was gone. He'd tracked the Batarian that had shot her through his ID and traced him back to a mercenary group on Omega, the Blue Suns. He knew enough about them from dealing with them on the Citadel.

What did it matter, anymore, why the Batarian had shot her? It didn't.

Why didn't matter, but the fact that it happened at all mattered.

Reapers were going to kill everyone. He couldn’t stop it. You didn't even hear about Reapers anymore with Morim gone. You did hear that human colonies in the Terminus systems were being wiped out, humans just gone. Not dead, gone.

He ran through the words of her poem “If” in his head and found no solace in it. It was a human poem, describing a human. It had nothing for him anymore that could guide his actions. He’d had enough of if.

He couldn't get the Reapers. He couldn't get her back.

It occurred to him that he could put a hole in the head of every "known associate" of the Batarian that had shot her.

The idea felt hard, it felt clean, it felt good.

Cleaner than C-Sec, cleaner than being a Spectre. He'd lost all faith in appointments or motivations that originated from the Citadel.

He was really, really good at one thing, and he was going to do it.

He set about making Garrus Vakarian disappear from records, from tracing, from biometrics and from the future.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, on Freedom’s Progress

Miranda: This is going to be one tough son of a bitch to take down.

Shepard: Take cover. Shit, I haven’t had to say that in a long time. Fuck. That’s not cover, that’s going to explode. MIRANDA. Oh shit.

Jacob: I can do this.

Shepard: Just stay down and let’s work out the timing. Jacob? JACOB? Fuck. Atlas…2…wait, 5…counting the Quarians. Shepard 0. Well, I have a grenade launcher, so I guess that will have to do. Have to start somewhere. I remember this feeling. Oh, shit, I miss Garrus so much.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Dossier: Archangel, Mass Effect 2

Shepard

Looking over the dossiers of the people she should recruit, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head that Archangel was Garrus. It was a very long shot that he was, likely just wishful thinking on her part. Fortunately long shots were her thing. She was going to find him, even if Archangel was a disappointment. Garrus was the only person she really needed to find, needed to see. She had to know he was safe, had to talk to him. She was sure there were plenty of people that could fit Archangel’s general description, but the details made her decide she damned sure was going to find out immediately.

Aria gave her nothing new about his identity, but did give her a direction. She decided she liked Aria for giving her anything at all.

Talking to the different members of the merc groups, she started to hum with hope. By the time the story about shooting down an airship was told, she felt sure.

Archangel was Garrus.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

It was near the end. He couldn’t stay awake much longer. He assumed he’d slow down soon and eventually he’d take a shot to the head. If that didn’t come to pass, he had a pistol available to take the final shot himself. He had no plans of being taken or tortured.

Near the end wasn’t so bad. He’d done what he wanted to do. This was a better end than most people drawing breath now would get. He’d picked a patch of ground and defended that patch, taking down more from them than they’d taken from him. He’d only lost ten people in the process.

It was a shame that the people he shot weren’t worth anything, and the ten people he’d lost were invaluable, and gone.

Too much invaluable and gone in his life.

He was too tired to really care about anything other than that shot in his pistol.

He looked through his scope and almost laughed. He was hallucinating. There she was. It hadn’t been the first time he’d caught her in the corner of his eye, but this was the first time he’d seen her in the center of his scope.

He lowered his scope, shook his head and willed tired muscles and stinging eyes to focus.

Maybe if she looked like Shepard, he’d let her take the shot that killed him. Symmetry, and nobody had to know.

He watched her move, and he was reminded of the story of Turian Spirits, Bakan, that were the vengeful dead. In his sights he was sure he saw a Bakan. Her face was scarred, eerie. The scars seemed to glow like there was fire flickering inside her. He could believe it. He had never been superstitious, but this Bakan he welcomed. Here on the edge of death it seemed fitting, and comforting. She cared enough to be his death omen. She’d come for him. It mattered to her that he’d let her die.

He couldn’t stand to shoot at the Bakan, so he loaded a few concussive shots.

The Bakan started shooting mercenaries in the back. Okay, so everybody died. He could understand that. He spared a look at her companions and instead of being other Bakan, he expected to see maybe Monteague or Sensat, they were…a man and a woman…wearing Cerberus insignia?

Okay, now really, what the actual fuck?

Curiosity and exhaustion allowed him to let the Bakan and her companions advance, all weapons drawn on him. She didn’t shoot him. He heard her voice. “Archangel?”

Maybe he was already dead. He thought a moment while he took a final shot, then turned to face her. There wasn’t much in the way of wit remaining in his head, so he just said the most obvious thing available to him. “Shepard. I thought you were dead.” He half expected the Bakan to inform him that he was dead as well.

Then she knew him. “Garrus! What are you doing here?”

In that moment he had no doubt it was her. Morim was alive. It was in her voice, all in her voice, the way her body moved, her arms thrown wide.

Of course they were in immediately danger.

He heard in her voice the welcome, but also her caution, her distance, standing back with the people beside her. Cerberus. They were with her, but he couldn’t tell if she was with them by choice. She didn’t trust them, he’d picked that up by her side glances at them, she was uneasy with them there, basically ignoring them, not introducing them.

He hoped she heard in his voice the attempts at humor, the attempts to put her at ease and explain with his tone that he had no doubts it was her, that they could ease back into who they were together before. As usual, how they felt would have to wait. They had to kill a lot of people first before a reunion could take place.

By the time she left, leaving one member of her crew with him, he was wide awake, and afraid she might not come back.

Fear was something he realized he hadn’t felt in a very long time, not like this. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d seen her bleeding in his arms.

He gripped his rifle and started bringing people down, careful and clean.

He didn’t want to die before someone explained to him what the fuck was going on. He didn’t want to die before she explained it to him. That was new also, not wanting to die.

It all hurt like hell, but he’d take it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, closing shutters

Jacob: So that’s Garrus? Part of your old crew?

Shepard: That’s Garrus.

Jacob: Was it worth it? Getting in here, maybe not getting out, for one guy?

Shepard: For the mission? Yeah. You could leave me here and take him, you’d be better off.

Jacob: Let’s try not to do that, okay?

Shepard: I promise if you promise.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

The world had gone cold and tight. Morim held Garrus's head in her hands, shards from his face plates floating in rivulets of blue blood on the floor. Floating away like the moments of Garrus's life if she did not do something now. Time slowed down for her, avenues of action heavy with consequence opened up and she chose. She ignored the sounds he was making, of choking, of drowning in his own blood, cataloguing them for later, when she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep and instead would experience them fully and repeatedly. Right now emergency meant that she only had room for the consequences and her choices. She needed to look, listen and think clinically to assess medical meaning. She turned his head, catalogued the noises this produced by the same mechanism and identified severed anatomy, pumping blue blood from his throat. Medical options presented themselves and she moved. She coated her hands with Medigel and slid one of her hands under the shattered plates on the side of his face to the best of her ability, spreading the gel, sealing off where she could, and then continuing to hold pressure. With her other hand she tried to compress a bleeder, but it wasn't cooperating. The erratic beat of his heart was causing the vessel to spasm unpredictably, sliding under her fingertips, his blood spurting through ragged edges she feared would tear further. She said quietly "Vakarian, if you die I'm going to be unspeakably angry. I can't get sidetracked here. You deserve better than this shithole and I won't have it." She longed to hear his snarky voice in answer, but it wasn't going to happen, ever, unless she got this right.

After a deep breath she made another choice, smeared some more Medigel on a finger slick with blue blood and slid it into what she assumed was the main artery on the right side of his neck. "I wouldn’t presume, Garrus, but I can't just let you die. I'll bill you later. I know you're good for it." She started to hear sounds other than her own heartbeat and his tortured attempts at breathing. She became aware that there was a frenzy of other people doing their jobs, Dr. Chakwas and a security detail stepped over bodies and ruined smoking mechs, including the remains of an air ship, picking their way and clearing a trail to the team.

Her focus diminished and Shepard became aware of Dr. Chakwas assessing her patient and Shepard's medical improvisation. Shepard was going to have to remain attached to Garrus until they made it back to the Med Bay. The doctor didn't need to say so, because the expression on Shepard's face meant an argument and likely creative death threats if she recommended anything else. 

With Dr. Chakwas there, time sped up back to almost normal, though every long second felt like it was closer to him dying. There was nothing more she could do other than forcefully will him to live, and it wasn't as though she could or should use her feet, so she kept pace with the stretcher, her hands gone numb and disobliging enough to tremble. She bit down on her tongue hard enough to give a new jolt of pain and focus. Then she became aware of some of her own issues. Burns, mostly. Vorchas with flame throwers were new. She had a new policy: Kill the pyro first. With extreme prejudice. Igniting them was best, because then their tanks exploded and took out the asshole next to them. That was fun to learn. Vorchas with flame throwers were the new Jumpy Fucker. Only one other person knew what a Jumpy Fucker was and he was busy bleeding out.

In the Med Bay Shepard began to think about what she'd done and tested her fingers to be sure. Yup. Medigel, Turian blood and human skin were potentially not a good mix. What she'd provided in pressure she may have cost him in access. She was stuck to him, chemically, the slurry of ick had solidified and this was possibly going to suck. Dr. Chakwas had ignored it up until this point after her initial assessment, working on the periphery and inward. Shepard was used to the normal pace of his breathing from all the times she’d heard it in battle in close proximity. Once it had evened out, she had felt better. He was sedated with whatever unholy tranquilizers it took to put a huge rocket stopper under. The thrumming of his vitals on the monitors settled into what sounded like a steady rhythm.

Dr. Chakwas had identified the path of the artery Shepard was plugging with her finger and prepared an alternate route, making a clean cut on the vessel, holding blood back with a stasis field and then reattaching it with medical sleight of hand and cybernetics, restoring blood flow. Shepard didn't really want to think about brain damage, but now that she'd thought about brain damage, she was thinking about brain damage. She said tersely "Brain damage?" to Dr. Chakwas.

She said calmly "I don't think so. The left artery and vein are intact, Turian brains are well and redundantly perfused. The gap in supply would be compensated for in other routes. His scans look good. You prevented catastrophic loss of blood volume and with replacement fluids his pressure is up."

Shepard heard all that and the implied "well done" behind the reassurances. She was reassured. Then Shepard asked "My hand is stuck to him. Do I need to cut it off?"

Chakwas said drily "Your hand? No, I don't think that will be necessary."

Shepard said "No, just the skin. Am I up for flaying, is the question? I don't want to remove my hand and pull half his face off, so I'm asking if I need pain killers and a very sharp scalpel."

Chakwas said "Also not necessary. I can loosen the seal with ultrasonics. We'll do it slowly, in stages. I'd offer you a chair but it would be in the way, so you're going to need to stand. If you need a stim shot, let me know before you fall over, because then you could manage to…how did you put it…pull half his face off."

Shepard was relieved. "I thank you. My skin thanks you. This may not be the worst day ever."

Chakwas had tuned out, working silently, repairing with efficiency.

Shepard felt a spurt of something. Happiness. She was happy. He was going to make it. He was here. He was going to live. This was the best day since she'd died.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The surgery was over and Shepard had been detached from him over the course of a few hours. She wanted to stay, but thought that if he regained consciousness and she was covered in his dried blood up to her shoulders and matting her hair with his shredded artery on her finger like a Chinese finger trap it might be disconcerting. She'd spare him that.

She retreated to her cabin, felt a debilitating pang for leaving him, but reaffirmed her choice after catching sight of herself in a mirror. She looked ghastly. Dried blood everywhere in a mottled ugly eggplant shade. Removing her armor was a lesson in nasty more than usual. She found a shard of his mandible in the hinge of her elbow armor and held it in her hand and stared at it. A triangular shape, blue paint, blood and scorch. She went into the shower, rubbing it between her fingers. She tried to imagine where this belonged on him. She thought of his markings as cheekbones, jawline and nose, and his injuries were burned into her mind, so through process of elimination, this was his jawline. She stood under the water and cried for a good long while she allowed herself to experience and process what happened today. Some of it was small and some of it was too big to take in. How tired his voice sounded. Why the fuck was he on Omega and not a Spectre somewhere? She’d gotten the briefing that he’d disappeared, but that was very Spectre-ey as an action. She’d assumed it could be a cover story. How immeasurably glad she was to see him. How terrified she was of getting him killed. How tenuous and catastrophic the situation she’d put him in, with her, and how unwilling she was to convince him to leave. The selfishness of that. She felt like her odds of success just went up by factors of the immeasurable. Was he bonded to a woman on Omega? Was she alive? Would Aria know?

She took a deep breath, stopped the flood of memory, the flood of tears, the flood of calculation and the flood of water. She had no answers but now she knew some of the questions.

She stepped out of the shower and leaned the mandible chip up against the side of her model Turian cruiser where she figured only she would know it was there. She could shoot anybody who noticed.

She tied her hair back in a wet ponytail and decided to head back down to the Med Bay.

When he woke, she was sitting by the side of his bed, reading him the same story he had read to her when she was under his care. Neither of them had finished it, but now they both knew the beginning.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Regaining consciousness, his first experience was disorientation. He had no idea where he was, what was going on, why he couldn’t move. He wasn’t in pain, but he was slow to take stock.

He heard her voice, and slowly the surreal and real settled back on him. A new reality where Morim was alive.

He became more aware of the words and not just her voice, and recognized passages, identified it as what he’d read to her. He never had finished that book, seemed to be pointless if she wasn’t there.

Now she was here, now he was here.

He’d taken a rocket to the face. He’d been sure of death when he saw it, when the blast knocked him back, when he couldn’t breathe without choking on his own blood. He remembered the searing pain, mixed with her steady voice demanding that he stay with her.

Of course he’d stay with her.

He heard Dr. Chakwas’s voice and his eyes opened. The lights were too bright, but he still had both eyes and they worked. He could move now, but not much. The uninjured side of the face was down and the injured side up. She was right there, where he could see her.

She saw him open his eyes and then took his hand in hers gently, smiling at him. She said “We’re going to take care of you, Garrus. You’re going to be all right. Dr. Chakwas has a little more work to do, and then we’ll be able to talk. You’re on a ship just like our Normandy, you’re not on Omega. You’re safe. Everything is a long story, but I promise you there will be time to tell it.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled again. One word drifted from what she’d said. She’d said our Normandy, not her Normandy. Then he heard Dr. Chakwas’s voice again, and everything went dark.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in the cockpit

Joker: Is Garrus going to be okay? I’ve heard some things, but I haven’t made it down to visit him.

Shepard: He’s going to be okay.

Joker: He…you…shit, I don’t know if he’d want to see me. I don’t know why you want to see me. I let you die.

Shepard: Joker…don’t. Don’t. You didn’t let me die. I let you live. And I’m back. If I hadn’t let you live, I wouldn’t have the best pilot when I need him. I was just thinking ahead.

Joker: Well…that’s true. And thanks. Garrus was pretty…harsh…at your funeral. I’m not sure he’d want to see me.

Shepard: He’d want to see you. I can tell because you’re not dead and he knew where to find you.

Joker: Okay, I’ll head down there next break.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Shepard waited for Jacob’s daily briefing, including his assessment of Garrus’s health, as if she hadn’t spent every moment in the last few days in the Med Bay by his side, staying quiet other than reading to him in his sleep, trying not to attract Dr. Chakwas’s attention otherwise because she didn’t want to be kicked out.

Jacob said “Commander, we’ve done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit. The doc has corrected with surgical procedures and some cybernetics. Best we can tell, he’ll have full functionality, but…”

Garrus walked in and said calmly “Shepard.”

Jacob responded “Tough son of a bitch. Didn’t think he’d be up yet.”

Garrus stepped into the room, ignoring Jacob entirely and said to Morim “Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?”

Morim couldn’t help but tease him “Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will notice.”

Garrus laughed and said “Oh, don’t make me laugh, damn it. My face is barely holding together as it is. Some women find facial scars attractive. Mind you, most of those women are Krogan.”

Her face wanted to smile more, but it wasn’t possible.

After Jacob left, Garrus said “Frankly I’m more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard? You remember those sick experiments they were doing?”

She’d wanted to give him the opportunity to leave after he’d been dragged from that pit. She’d wanted to have a quiet conversation where she gave him all the options she could, and let him choose. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him go. She said in the strongest truth she had “That’s why I’m glad you’re here, Garrus. If I’m walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side.”

He accepted that as if he’d expected nothing less from her. She thought that if she’d given him the option to leave, he would have been insulted. “You realize this plan has me walking into hell too? Hm. Just like old times. I’m fit for duty whenever you need me Shepard. I’ll settle in and see what I can do in the forward batteries.”

He turned and she noticed she hadn’t been looking at anything but his face. His armor was cratered and it had scorch marks where it had melted.

His armor had melted.

Okay, that was distracting. She was going to have to do something about that. The man should not be able to use the right side of his armor as a cup holder.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Morim had come to talk to him in the Battery, but the talk was mostly about catching up on the facts. He didn’t know much yet, but he knew enough not to have conversations without assuming he was being bugged and recorded. Morim seemed to somehow accept that as a certainty and her tone had conveyed to him that she didn’t trust Cerberus in the least, which was alarming and comforting in turns. She wasn’t ignorant of the huge threat of either the Reapers or Cerberus’s involvement, but she was going to walk right into it. Again.

Morim had come by and asked him to head out with her, but he had no idea what the mission was, it was just the two of them, heading down to Omega. No briefing, no third party member.

Once they’d cleared the air lock, she’d stepped out a few feet into the passage, and then turned and threw her arms around him, hugging around his armor, her arms couldn’t reach the whole way around.

He was startled, but then wrapped his arms around her as well. He thought that she was crying. Her arms were shaking. There were soft interruptions of her breathing and her back was drawing in sporadic breath under his arms.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her while she cried. 

Time and people flowed around them and they stood together until she was done. He had no idea specifically why she was crying, but she had every right to do it. 

She took a deep breath, stood back and said “Thank you. Had to do that.” She brushed the tears off her face and said “Onward.”

She led him to Purgatory and sat down in a loud booth. She pointed to her Omni Tool and then his, and then he understood. He disabled his while she disabled hers. They exchanged biometric disable codes. Drinks were ordered and delivered.

She said “Thank you for understanding every signal I tossed out. You caught them all. There is nothing I could say to thank you enough for your discretion, for your support, for your sheer…Garrusness.”

Garrus smiled. “Then there’s nothing I could say to asssure you that you’re welcome enough.”

She said “We’re fucked. I’m sure you figured that out, but we’re fucked. I mean, I’m fucked. You volunteered to be fucked.”

Garrus coughed and said “Not yet, but I could be talked into it.”

Morim said “I thought about talking you out of it. I really did. I thought hard. I was sure I was going to try. I’m still thinking I’m going to try.”

Garrus waved her off “Don’t. You’d only embarrass yourself.”

Morim said “Like that’d be new.”

Garrus said “Go on, try it. Say ‘Garrus, everything’s fine, I don’t need you.’”

Morim raised one finger and said “A challenge. Okay, I can do this.” She laughed a little and then bounced in her seat, then settled down and brought her palm down over her face like a curtain, altering her facial expression to calm and professional. She raised cool eyes to his and said “Mr. Vakarian, I can understand your interest in such a mission, and your record certainly shows that you are capable of enhancing any team that I might choose to lead. Your service in the past has been exemplary.”

He leaned back and said “Uh huh. And?”

Her composure started to break and she said “And…I couldn’t…possibly…take you away from…all this” she gestured to Purgatory specifically and Omega on the whole “It’s too much to ask.” She laughed and said “Okay, I wanted to. But I can’t. I should have, but clearly that opportunity is lost.”

Garrus laughed “You couldn’t even say my name. Mr. Vakarian. Nice try.”

Morim sighed “I was working up to it.”

Garrus laughed again “No, that’s not what I saw. Look, I’m sure you could have put on your face and your intent, and you could have said all of those words, even my name, and I still wouldn’t have fallen for it. Feel glad you didn’t try. Making fun of you for joking about it is temporary, making fun of you for doing it is forever.”

She took a deep breath and said “Okay then. You’re staying. Let me explain why I am. I don’t trust Cerberus. I don’t trust anybody with or from Cerberus. I don’t trust their intentions.” She held up her hand and said “I don’t trust my Omni Tool. I am assuming they’re listening in on everything, and that the people are reporting on me and that there's a file somewhere based on whether or not I turn left or right upon exiting the elevator. Graphs. Consultants. They invested a lot in me, and I imagine they will expect a lot back. They gave me the ship, they gave me Dr. Chakwas and Joker and some lovely, talented and dedicated people who will seemingly follow my orders. They’re going to use me to get whatever it is that they want, and I’m going to use them to get whatever it is that I want, and we’ll see who gets to the finish line first. I am not dealing in trust, I’m dealing in what use I can get out of this. It’s two years on and someone spent billions of credits on me and gave me a shot at exactly what I wanted when I died. The Alliance is not going to help me. The Council is not going to help me. Nobody is going to help me.”

Garrus said solemnly “I’ll help you.”

Morim sighed “Thus the crying. Garrus, I don’t know what they did to me. I don’t know what the cybernetics that are grafted to my spine are going to do to me. I feel like me, but I imagine if you can bring someone back from the dead, you can make them feel like themselves. I don’t know, and I can’t let it stop me, but I need you to watch me. I need you to tell me if I am not me. You would know. If necessary, I need you to stop me if you suspect that I am not myself. When I…died…I was looking forward to working with you again, both Spectres, both trying to get a job done. If we’re smart, if we’re careful, we could do it. With what we know, we may be the only ones who can.”

Garrus looked at her as she spoke, at her face, the scars reminding him of all the unspoken changes in her, in him. She still looked like a Bakan. She’d gone from Commander to Shepard to Morim to Venri to Bakan. His hope of her being his Venri had died with her. A Turian bonds for a life, and her life had been over. He was ashamed of himself for giving up on the fight that meant so much to her, of coming to Omega and nearly dying. Cerberus might not be worthy of trust, but they had found her, brought him back, while he did nothing, believed there was nothing to do. Then she’d saved his life when he hadn’t cared enough to do it himself, this Bakan. It didn’t even really matter to him yet if they pulled it off, he didn’t have that much hope, but he wanted to try, and that would have to be enough. He still only did one thing really well. What she asked of him, he could do. Shoot things. Watch her back. Watch her.

He said “All right, Morim. We’ll do it. I’ll watch. You won’t be alone in this.”

She said “Thank you. All right, drink up, we have to go shopping.”

Garrus said “We have to what?”

Morim said “Shopping. We’re rich now. I can requisition whatever the hell I want, and I’m going to take advantage. Let’s go get you some new armor and a new gun to play with.”

Garrus smiled “Now we’re talking.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Shepard

Partnership had seemed like such a great idea, but in practice it was difficult. Her next mission had to do with recruiting Dr. Mordin Solus, and it was in a plague zone. A plague that affected Turians.

Her choices for party members included Jacob, Miranda and Zaeed, none of whom she trusted. Miranda and Jacob had gone with her to get Garrus, and though she wasn’t comfortable with them, she was definitely more comfortable with them than Zaeed. She’d like to take each team member out with Garrus to get his impressions, but in this case it was out.

She’d gone down to tell him he wasn’t going because of the plague thing and he wasn’t happy with that decision.

He grated out “Morim, it’s a bad call. I can wear a mask, I can stick to an oxygen recycle protocol. I should be going.”

She shook her head “No, there’s no need, it shouldn’t be that hard of a run, I can get in, get out safely.”

He argued “If it’s that damned safe, then I should be able to do the same.”

She said “Again. No. Look, I know you’re used to me thinking it's okay to get you killed, but it’s really not my main goal. It shouldn’t affect me, Jacob or Miranda. I’ll take them.”

He turned away and went back to work. “Okay. It’s a risk. It’s your call, I don’t have to like it. The whole job is managing risk.”

So. She was dismissed.

Okay then.

She opened her mouth to try to put him at ease, or make him laugh, but his back was imposing and what would she say anyway? “I’ll try not to die?”

The best thing she could do was to go and try not to die, so that's what she did.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, on Omega

Miranda: Who do you think would put together a plague like this?

Shepard: I have no idea. Plague fairy?

Miranda: I…what?

Shepard: Miranda, I mostly just shoot things, and I’m not really educated on current events.

Miranda: Understood.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Garrus reached out to Morim, and she took his hand. They were at the edge of a cliff, water pounding in waves far below. She was in a blue gown, the same color as his paint, stylized patterns that stretched back centuries. She was talking to his father, her face lit up with laughter. It was a bonding ceremony. Their bonding ceremony. Morim would ask him to dance before witnesses.

He pulled her closer to him and walked by the edge of the cliff, and a Krogan with a pyjak walked by them, singing a human song. Why was there a pyjak with a…he was supposed to be somewhere, he was with someone, it was important.

His hand, she was holding his hand. He had to warn her about something, but he couldn’t remember what it was, a Krogan? Where were they going?

He was confused, and trying to remember what he was supposed to know.

He needed to get back to her, and she had to be somewhere around here, she should be close. He thought he saw her hair further in the crowd, in front of him, and he pushed through the crowd, trying to reach her.

He heard gunshots and the crackle of fire, and he tried to run, but he was too slow, he smelled her blood. He wanted to call her name, but couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move. He looked down, he was covered in her blood and couldn’t remember what happened, where she was. She was gone and he wouldn’t find her, covered in what was left of her life dripping off his hands.

He woke up and oriented himself to where he was. The palms of his hands were shredded where his talons had dug in.

Oh, fuck, again with the nightmares. Things he knew intellectually and could deal with, or thought he could deal with while awake, were leaking out of him while he slept, or more precisely, couldn’t sleep. He started to laugh. Why was there always a fucking Krogan with a pyjak? That was the part he couldn’t figure out. The rest wasn’t really in code. It would be nice if he were as sophisticated as he aspired to be.

He should probably talk to Dr. Chakwas and get something to sleep, but he couldn’t stand the idea of being vulnerable to having that conversation monitored, and then vulnerable to being too deep under to wake in an emergency, or vulnerable to the medication she prescribed being altered without her knowledge or his. Instead he fixed his hands with some Medigel.

As a result of his inability to really cope with reality as it stood, he was soaking in anger and fear, dripping with it, and he was not managing it well. Deciding to live under constant stress and worry was one thing, doing it was another. He’d been accustomed to stress and worry, but not the stake involved. The stake was her.

He was irrationally angry at many things, and a few of those things were her. He was angry at her for allowing herself to die, then angry at her for being alive and putting herself immediately back in danger. He hadn’t stopped killing for two years and it was in his blood, corrosive and burning. He’d killed without conscience, without even thinking of his victims as being worthy of drawing breath. He'd been righteous. That’s what he’d wanted, and that’s what he had gotten for himself. Clean and hard and cold.

Adjusting to potentially having hope, having a stake in the future, with her here, was impossible. Reaching for it meant that he touched the edges of how much he had grieved for her, how much she had changed the course of his life. She wanted to stop, wanted to think, wanted to consider the value of life, and that wasn’t what he did anymore. That wasn’t who he was. Messy and soft and warm was not going to work for him. Her telling him that he wasn’t going to be able to take a risk for her, while she took the risk herself by going on this mission, was impossible to hear. 

He'd been sure he would be able to be there for her as a colleague only. Over time, he’d stopped aching for her, he’d gotten her out of his system. He'd had nightmares like these years ago, but they'd faded. He'd been dreamless for a long time. Those two years might as well have been forever. He'd been cold, numb, deadly. He'd stopped thinking of her when he pulled the trigger, and the trigger itself became his focus. That numbness was the only thing he'd had to protect himself. If he was no longer numb, he was in searing, constant, seething anger. Unfortunately his body did not agreed with his head. To see her, to smell her, to touch her, to put his arms around her while she cried convinced his body that she was here, and that he was hers. If his body had tried to convince him that she was his, that might have been easier to fend off. It was true that he was hers, so he had nothing to combat the urge to put himself at her service. 

Being in her service meant that they were all going to die and he couldn’t save her, again, and then the anger surged and he bit back what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her to stop, that she’d died once, that she would die again, and shouldn’t somebody else be doing the dying? She’d made the chain of command messy as well and now he was encouraged to argue with her, so that’s another thing he wanted to do. He was no longer required to go along with insane plans, because it was his job to keep her from doing that, and she’d asked him to do that herself, to be of service. Every plan of hers was insane.

He needed to find that narrow band, that range of acceptable actions, when every action was that razor edge of what she termed “correct action.” They had no "right" choices left. It was the same as it had been on the original Normandy, except they couldn't trust their colleagues and they couldn't trust the source of their information, materiel and motivation, Cerberus.

He really probably shouldn’t be driving a gun, but driving that gun made him feel better and it was all that he had to offer. Fucked up as he was, he was still better than her other choices of companion.

She knew about Sidonis. Maybe if he got that out of his system he could make an actual change. He hated to ask her to kill yet another asshole that had obsessed him, but if he could focus on the asshole, maybe he wouldn’t focus on what his other choice was, relying on his instinct to protect her while also suppressing the instinct to blame her for being the greatest threat to her own safety. Too many resurrections at once. She was alive and then wanting to be with her was alive. She would be dead soon. Being with her…he couldn't even touch that right now. Maybe never. He'd likely be dead before circumstances would allow him to consider telling her.

If he couldn’t get the anger out of his system, he could at least channel it to someone who deserved its full blast.

If he started having dreams about Sidonis being beaten to death by a Krogan with a pyjak, it might be worth it. He might get a lot more sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Horizon

Shepard: It knows my name.

Garrus: Being famous doesn’t always work out for you, does it Morim?

Shepard: It knows my NAME. Why doesn’t it know your name?

Garrus: That’s why you need a pseudonym, like Archangel.

Shepard: Okay, everybody start calling me “The Ballerina.”

Mordin: Unlikely Harbinger will call you “The Ballerina.”

Shepard: Way to kill my dreams, Mordin.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Shepard was exhausted and more than a little freaked out. Having something called a Harbinger know her name was bad. Worst part is you had to kill him last because if you kill him first for being a stalker, he just jumped to another body. Having to kill the Praetorian through the heroic act of running around in circles behind cover and hiding was making her start to think she really was not ready for what was happening. She’d been rushed down here by opportunity.

There were gangs of husks. Granted, they didn’t throw up on her like the Thorian creepers, so maybe she should be thankful for…no, she really wasn’t thankful. 

Okay, she’d found something to be thankful about. Mordin didn’t get them all killed, his countermeasure worked. She just had to not shoot Delan herself for being…Delan, and she’d be really happy to get out of here. When Delan had accused her of letting the colonists die, she’d said tersely “I did what I could.”

Garrus said “More than most, Shepard.”

Kaidan stepped out of the corner from around the stacks. He was alive. That’s the first good news today. He was rattling off her inflated credentials. He still couldn’t see her as a person, but as a story. He finished with “You're in the presence of a legend, Delan. And a ghost.”

Delan said “All the good people we lost, and you get left behind. Figures. Screw this. I'm done with you Alliance types.”

Alliance types. Interesting phrasing. Oh well, now she wouldn’t have to shoot him. She’d made it to the finish line.

Kaidan said “I thought you were dead, Commander. We all did.”

She said “I was. For two years. It's been too long, Kaidan. How've you been?” Maybe he could join them.

Kaidan ignored her tone “I would’ve followed you anywhere, Commander. Thinking you were gone…it was like losing a limb. Why didn’t you try to contact me? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”

Morim said “I wanted to. I tried to. Anderson wouldn’t tell me where you were. I found Tali, I found Garrus, but I was still looking for you.”

Kaidan responded “You’re with Cerberus now. Garrus too. I can’t believe the reports were right.” Okay. So, maybe she’d wait to see if he was interested in working with them at all.

Garrus said “Reports? You mean you already knew?”

He was backing away. Not a good sign. Kaidan was a good man but also very emotional. She had no problem with emotional, considered it a strength. She was emotional. However, emotion had to be tempered with reality, not ideals. It needed to be measured against facts, not opinions. Kaidan was idealistic in a way she wasn’t. She didn’t believe that good always won in the end. Kaidan had idealized her as good. Alliance = Good. Cerberus = Bad. Now that she was associated with Cerberus, in his eyes, she was either bad or a dupe. For her being Cerberus was only a change in uniform and in lighting. The rest was the same. That’s okay. If he couldn’t make a distinction, she had no right putting him on the path she was on. He missed the finer aspects of pragmatism. Morim sighed and realized the band was definitely not getting back together. It still couldn’t hurt to get his confidence, have him be a source of information inside the Alliance. She said “If I could have gotten Alliance assistance, I would have. If I could have gotten YOUR assistance, I would have. I still…really need…your assistance, Kaidan. I’m a Spectre and I’m using the resources I’ve been given. Human colonies are disappearing. I’m trying to save them.”

Kaidan said “Really? Is that what you’re doing? Alliance intel thought that Cerberus might be behind the missing human colonies. They got a tip this colony might be the next one to get hit. Anderson stonewalled me, but there were rumors that you weren't dead. That you were working for the enemy.”

She said calmly “Our colonies are disappearing. The Alliance turned its back on them. Cerberus is the only group willing to do something about it.”

Kaidan said “You can't really believe that! We both know what Cerberus is like. What they're capable of.”

She suspected there was more to it. “And I know what the Alliance is capable of. I know what you are capable of. You saw reports but didn't contact me, even though you knew I was with Cerberus. You had enough information to find me on your own. Building the defense towers was just a cover story. The Alliance sent you here to investigate me, didn't they?”

Kaidan tried to cover, but he wasn’t a good liar. Another distinction in pragmatism between them. “I was here for Cerberus. You were just a rumor.”

Sure, Shepard thought. Okay, Kaidan. “Cerberus and I want the same thing: to save our colonies. That doesn't mean I answer to them.”

Kaidan responded “Do you really believe that? Or is that just what Cerberus wants you to think? I wanted to believe the rumors that you were alive, but I never expected anything like this. You turned your back on everything we stood for!”

Her jaw set and she reminded herself to relax. “This isn't about me working for Cerberus, Kaidan. Something far more important is at stake. You saw it yourself. The Collectors are targeting human colonies and they're working with the Reapers.”

Kaidan said “I want to believe you, Shepard. But I don't trust Cerberus. They could be using the threat of a Reaper to manipulate you. What if they're behind it? What if they're working with the Collectors?”

Garrus said "Dammit, Kaidan. You're so focused on Cerberus that you're ignoring the real threat."

Her shoulders dropped and a few tears stung the back of her eyes. Gods bless Garrus. She might not have a band, but at least she had the best duo going on. Fuck. Kaidan was just not up to dealing with what was real. Again. Okay. He couldn’t exist in the potential spaces the way she could. That just made him stable and sane and at this point she probably had no use for that. She had to remember that not everyone was willing to dive at a tiny, moving, possibly fake target. She’d be better off without him. He’d just get himself killed and she’d feel guilty because he was behaving like a child who couldn’t actually give consent to a grown up action. That might not be fair, but she didn’t care right now. It was a working metaphor. He'd come so far during the fight with Saren, but it was clear he'd go no further, at least not right now. She would be calm. “You're letting how you feel about their history get in the way of the facts.”

Kaidan said “Maybe. Or maybe you feel like you owe Cerberus because they saved you. Maybe you're the one who's not thinking straight.”

She said “I can see you won't listen to reason.” She was really done here. Where was a horde of running husks when you needed them?

Kaidan continued “You show up after two years and tell me you're working with Cerberus. What does reason figure into any of this? You've changed. But I still know where my loyalties lie. I'm an Alliance solider. Always will be. I've got to report back to the Citadel. They can decide if they believe your story or not.”

Her jaw was back to being tight again “So long, Kaidan”

Kaidan said “So long, Commander. Good luck.”

Garrus stepped forward and said “Again with the not punching Kaidan when he deserves it. Want me to shoot him? He’s walking in a straight line. I wouldn’t even have to lead.”

Shepard laughed and said “Yes. “

He lifted his rifle.

She said “No.”

He put his rifle down. 

She said “YES.”

He lifted his rifle and made a show of squinting. 

She said “Wait. No. I have a feeling we’re going to need the ammo for something that’s actually useful, not just satisfying. Thanks though.”

Garrus put his hand on her shoulder. “If you say so. Offer’s open. Any time.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind. Last time he was ordered to help me. If he came with us now, he'd spend his time trying to save the honor of the Alliance by going through my Extranet traffic to uncover my suspected crimes and stupidity. I have enough people doing that already. I think this time I’ll stick with someone who wants to help me.”

Garrus said “So…that’d be me.”

She looked at him “Yup. That’d be you.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Zaeed: The Price of Revenge

Meanwhile, outside a refinery

Garrus: Is that rifle working out for you? Maybe I should give it a try.

Zaeed: Sure. When we get back you can try it out. It’s good, but nothing like Jenny.

Garrus: Jenny?

Zaeed: Best rifle a man could ever have at his side.

Garrus: I know enough to not to ask to try out Jenny.

Zaeed: Good man.

Shepard

She stood with Zaeed and Garrus at the edge of the burning refinery. She was sure she had enough time to go back and save the people trapped inside. She had to be able to save them. Zaeed had to be wrong. As soon as she saw Zaeed close in on Vido, she turned around and headed back in.

Garrus turned to follow her as she moved with purpose back through the refinery, retracing her steps, trying to find survivors.

Garrus said “Morim?”

She didn’t answer, and kept walking, trying to figure a way through the metal and the fire, smoke blocking her view.

Garrus said again more urgently “Morim.”

She waved him off, preparing to jump across one of the empty spans across the grate, fire licking enough at the edges to melt the metal.

She stepped back to give herself a little lead for momentum, but Garrus had caught up to her, catching her around the waist and swinging her back around, carrying her back until they were on more solid plating.

She started to struggle wildly, trying to get out of his hold. “Stop! I have to get back! There are people in there, I have to – “

Garrus put her down and shook her once, hard “Morim, they’re gone. They’re gone. We can’t –“

She tried to shove him off, rejecting his answer, shaking her head and trying to get ready to jump again. His grip on her didn’t change, and she snarled at him, “I’m going BACK. You can stay here if you want, but I’m –“

She saw his fist too late to duck.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He wasn’t sorry. In fact, it felt pretty good.

He carried her back out to where Zaeed was waiting for the shuttle, and didn’t give any explanation, as Zaeed didn’t ask. He was considering whether or not to tell people she’d been overcome by smoke or something had fallen on her, or just tell people flat out that he’d punched her because she was crazy.

It was nice to have a little power for once.

It never came up. He carried her up to her quarters. There was one nice thing about having a group of people obsessed with their own issues and no personal relationship with Morim at all. They didn’t ask questions.

She’d authorized his entry at any time, so he put her down on her bunk and sat next to it, waiting for her to wake up. He read on his Omni Tool. He had no idea what to say to her, but it was pretty straightforward. It would come to him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She woke up suddenly, the pain in her jaw making her rub at it. She groaned, and then noticed Garrus, who wasn’t looking at her, just reading.

She closed her eyes, thought a moment and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Garrus said “I know.”

She opened her eyes, he was still reading. “Thank you.”

Garrus answered “You’re welcome” and lifted his eyes to hers.

She said “I won’t do that again.”

He shook his head slowly and then said “Yes, you will.”

She said “Not if I think you’re going to punch me.”

He tilted his head and said more emphatically “Yes. You will.”

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "I choked. I saw it in Zaeed's eyes, I wouldn't be able to convince him. He didn't respect me and I didn't respect him and there was nowhere to go from there. I couldn’t even trust him to not try to kill us if we decided to be otherwise occupied doing something unacceptable like saving lives. If he'd been willing to blow up the refinery and everyone in it to spite Vido, he couldn't be counted on to not shoot you in the back while you were trying to help someone."

Garrus said "And then you punched him."

Morim laughed bitterly "Yeah, and that felt good. That was the only part that felt good. He lied about the mission. I couldn’t shift gears fast enough. I was so focused on getting his help that I lost sight of the war to win a battle. I decided I'd go back after he was handled and no longer a threat. I need to work on my strategic agility. I'm not used to working with people who aren't already committed to the idea of being of service. Because of my inability to punch Zaeed a second time, people burned to death."

Garrus said "Zaeed is good at what he does. He respects you now. He just dealt with some of his crazy, you just dealt with some of yours."

Shepard said "It wasn't new crazy, Cerberus programming crazy, right?"

Garrus shook his head "Nope. Same old crazy."

Shepard said "That's something. You've still got some crazy left to go, though. Are you sure I can't talk you out of tracking down Sidonis?"

Garrus sighed "No. You can't. My team left behind family. It's less about me and more about them. You sure you don't have any unfinished business you need to take care of for yourself?"

Morim shrugged and then sighed "That's a question nobody's asked me. I haven't thought about it. I don't think so. I died. That gave everyone else closure. People have already said goodbye to me. Now that I'm back, they don't know what to do with me. To them, I'm different, they can't trust me or my mission. You're the only exception to that deeply depressing rule. I don't feel any different, though. I guess my crazy is going to be handled in the mission itself. That's what I have to do." She thought a moment longer and then stretched, relaxing. "Although, I wouldn't mind some sex before I go. I miss sex." She stretched out her shoulders and rolled her neck. "I think Jacob would be up for it, but I'm not up for Jacob. Zaeed's out." She sighed, and looked at Garrus. "If I could find a man like you, Garrus, that would go a long way to making me a lot less crazy." She looked at him a little longer and then dropped her head. "But that's not going to happen because there's only one Garrus and the Gods are not that creative more than once. Did you know that I think you have an amazing voice? Count your blessings, Garrus. I'm counting mine." She stood and leaned toward him, her fingers tracing the edges of the bandage on his face. "I'm beyond lucky to have you, Garrus, and I know it. You deserve better, and I'll try to be better. I'm sorry." Her words had slowed down and she was noticing that her fingertips lingered too long. She pulled her hand back. "I'm sorry. I'm over sharing and babbling. I'll be okay, as long as I've got you. I wish I were a Turian sometimes. Then my voice would be cool and I would smell good." She shook her head and said "You should go. I'm concerned about head trauma. Please ignore me. Someone hit me, I have an excuse."

Garrus stood slowly, stepped forward to her until she backed up a little. He lifted one hand to the side of her face. He said very quietly and deliberately "Figure out what you want, Morim, it would do us all some good."

He dropped his hand and turned to leave.

She said quietly "I love you, Garrus."

He turned back around and said "I love you, too." Then he left.

Morim shook her head one more time to see if it would clear. Seems he hit her pretty hard. Hard to match her head. Oh well. He understood her crazy and her intentions. That was going to have to be enough. Maybe she could talk him into reading her another book if she stopped doing stupid things for a while.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Why hadn't he thought of hitting her sooner? Things were looking up.

Was it really that easy? Ask her what she wanted? Did she not ask herself often what she wanted the way other people did? 

Apparently not. She had been invested in, brought back, to do a job. She’d done that job before, and not by thinking of herself.

Saying they loved each other was true, but also nowhere near enough to describing what was going on. Many people that say they love each other would not choose to trade their lives for each other several times a day or trade their lives for people they didn't know for a possible future only they could see. Even before he was attracted to her, he’d loved her. She’d known he’d die for her. Many people don't know what it is like to be rescued and to rescue that often, what it builds, what it means. They were not many people. Saying it wasn't a revelation to either of them. They'd kept each other alive so often there was no keeping track. They knew that without the other, they wouldn't be here.

She'd said he smelled good, that he had an amazing voice. Was she was responding to him being bonded to her? Could she sense that? That's exactly what bonding enhanced, voice, touch and chemistry. He'd changed, but primarily because he wanted to. He'd assumed that it would only affect him, maybe make her feel less likely to kill him in her sleep. Had it worked cross species enough for her to notice while she was awake? Humans had hearing and senses of smell that were far inferior to Turian senses. Hard to tell because she'd just been unconscious. Again.

And if she was responding to bonding? Would he tell her or take advantage of it? "Hey, Shepard, you remember that time when I almost let you bleed to death? Well, funny story, I gave up my future with any other woman and every time you're in the room I want to claw my way through anything that's between us so I can…"

Can what? Stand beside her? Hear her voice? Feel warmth radiate from her body? Watch over her while she slept? Yes, those. Those he knew he wanted.

Maybe he wouldn't tell her. Not now. Not soon. That's too much to drop on someone just because they like your voice. He'd have to see if "someone like him" made the leap to "him" in her mind. He wasn't even sure what he thought on the subject, if he was dealing in particulars and not in general devotion. He didn't even know if sex would kill her. He could and likely would hurt her if they tried. When she'd been shot, his main experience of touching her body had been fear and protectiveness, seeing how fragile she was. He was, in fact, terrified of touching her beyond protectively. He hadn't thought about this in years, he'd jumped straight to her being dead and him being lost. She'd taken his inspiration with her. Sex hadn't existed in his mind related to her or anybody else in so long, the idea still felt like a lost limb, something unrecoverable. He'd dreamed of a bonding ceremony with her, but that was emotional, the same as saying he loved her with ease. Maybe he should start figuring out what humans usually did. It might help him navigate.

Maybe he was distracting her and this was dangerous.

No. He was not going to feel bad about this. Let her ache for him for over two years and then see how merciful she'd be inclined to be. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Dossier: Recruit the Justicar

Shepard: Oh. OH. Volus are adorable. He was adorable.

Thane: He was intoxicated.

Shepard: Which just made it better. I want one.

Thane: I believe on Ilium you could likely purchase a Volus.

Shepard: Are they expensive?

Thane: It depends upon their skill set.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Garrus was getting used to working with Thane, and he liked him a lot, professionally. There was a lot to admire about his ability to kill. Personally, he was having some trouble with the way Thane was looking at Morim. It was subtle, but it was there, speculative. 

He was probably oversensitive to it. Morim showed no signs of being attracted to Thane. She did like him though. When they were out with Thane, he could tell that she felt safer than when she had brought out other party members. He did as well. Thane had made himself at home very quickly, learned their fighting styles and adapted with lethal efficiency. He was never unconscious, unlike Jack, who liked to stand on top of things she should be behind and yell at people far too much for her own safety. Garrus’s respect for Thane had grown because he had a better view of the field than Morim did. She didn’t always see how Thane chose his targets according to the likelihood that they might hurt her. Garrus did. Thane had also worked out easily that he could count on Garrus to go left if he went right when there were multiple targets to prioritize.

He had no reason to believe that Thane would do Morim harm, but how far can you trust a person who has spent an entire isolated life, killing for Hanar? How do the Hanar give him a target? He imagined a picture with a note saying "This one would like you to fuck up that one."

They'd worked their way through the job, trying to get to the information that Samara needed to join them. Samara was another person he would find it hard to trust. Samara followed an obscure Justicar code that he'd seen involved crushing people's throats with her heel when they didn't please her. 

Watching Thane take down his targets, Garrus noted again that he moved with a great deal of grace. He'd be an excellent dancer. 

Just not with Morim.

They'd advanced to Wasea, and Morim wasn't paying attention to the red sand as she should. She had a little in her system right now, that probably couldn't be avoided, but he was starting to see new colors radiating from her biotics. She was equidistant from 3 containers that he could see.

Wasea was nearly gone, so it wasn't that much of a risk.

Unfortunately Morim decided to finish Wasea off with a shockwave, which was of greater diameter and impact than her normal shockwave, and it detonated those three containers as well as one he hadn't seen. The cloud of red particles obscured his vision, but he vaulted out of cover to get to her in case she was about to hit the ground.

Thane had the same idea, and he was moving in from another direction. The fog cleared a little, she was standing with purple energy waves lapping across her body.

Thane and Garrus both skidded to as stop while she said "WOOOO HOOOO! That is good stuff. Scary stuff, but good stuff, did you guys get any?" She took a deep breath.

Oh shit. 

Garrus lunged for her and dragged her out of the billowing cloud. Her hands were glowing in ways they probably shouldn't. Garrus kept his hands around her waist, she wasn't all that steady. She saw Thane and said "Thane! You. Are. Bad. Ass. Really. I like your style."

She put her hands over Garrus's hands, confused as to why they were there, then twisted in his grip to see who he was.

Her eyes went wide and the energy lapping around her intensified and turned from purple to near black. "Garrus."

He had enough time to think that her voice did not skimp on the sexy when she wanted it to, before she lunged at him. He was startled enough to think she might head butt him, but instead her mouth was everywhere on his face and neck, her hands following. 

That…felt…so good. His arm wrapped around her, pulled her closer.

Thane's voice, amused, penetrated his blurry awareness "Do you need assistance?"

Garrus growled at him. 

Thane continued to be amused. 

Morim drew back, mimicked Garrus's growl in the same tone, and then started in on a very effective assault on the side of his neck with her lips, teeth and tongue. 

Oh, Spirits, yes.

"She's…uh, she's working her way through some things." He said to Thane calmly, trying to restrain her hands.

She got frustrated, pulled back from him, smiled, and then knocked him back with a shockwave, and dove on top of him, trying to remove his armor, which he hurriedly refastened as soon as she switched sides.

Thane responded. "Clearly."

Garrus said "We're going to hope this stuff comes with memory loss, and we're not going to mention it."

Thane hesitated "Are you sure? There's a great deal she would likely care to know. This is all very educational."

Garrus said "I'm sure." She'd discovered he was ticklish and he couldn't help laughing, then said "Morim. Stop. That doesn't come off. OW."

Thane said "She's intelligent enough to know the difference between drugs and…not drugs."

Garrus sighed "It's…it's complicated. There are a few ways here she's not in control of herself, if I'm right about some things. Red sand is one, and circumstances contributing to her being too dense to know her own mind is the other. Nothing sinister. It will work out. I will tell her. Just not today."

Thane replied. "Of course. If you think it is best."

Garrus said "It’s best. You have no idea how stubborn she can be. If she thinks she’s only attracted to me because of drugs…she’ll have an excuse to…ignore herself for another two years." Garrus laughed, gave up on trying to hold her back, and rolled her over until he was on top of her and growled in her ear, saying "Morim, Venri, beautiful…you have to stop. We have an audience. No. NO. You can’t go for the grenades just because you didn’t get your way."

She said "Mmmmm…." and then her hands fell away and she was unconscious. Garrus checked for her pulse, and it was steady. Her breathing was solid enough to qualify as snoring.

Thane said "There was no reason to growl. She is beautiful and I find her fascinating, but she has no interest in me. If she does not know she is attracted to you, that would likely make her the only one on the ship who does not know it. Even before now I knew you shared a bond with her, that she trusts you and that you would not wish to do her harm under any circumstances."

A bond. Good call, Thane. Garrus lifted her in his arms and then said "I'm sorry about that. It appears there are some things neither one of us can help. Civilization is wearing thin on both of us. We've…uh…had an unusual time of it. As long as you are fascinated…over there…everything will be fine."

Thane said with a hint of humor and pride “She likes my style.”

Garrus said “If we’re sharing, so do I.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She woke up in the Med Bay, her head was pounding. Oh…oh Gods. Red sand was evil. What the hell happened?

Garrus was sitting beside her bed. She pointed at her head and whined expressively.

Garrus said quietly "Dr. Chakwas said you might have a headache. There are too many interactions with red sand with a lot of the medications she might have given you to relieve pain. You're going to have to ride this out."

Morim whimpered and then pulled the pillow over her head.

Garrus said "She says you're lucky to be alive."

She said into the pillow "I don't feel lucky."

Garrus lifted the corner of the pillow. "Do you need anything, are you thirsty or hungry?"

Morim pulled it back down "No. I'd throw up. Garrus, please kill me."

Garrus patted the top of the pillow and started to read aloud to her.

She interrupted once after a few minutes. "Did we win?"

Garrus answered "Yes, we won. You'll be fine in a few hours. We got the name of the ship, we can go pick up Samara when you feel better."

She sighed "You seriously won't kill me? I'm begging you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

She’d come to try to talk to him several times, and he'd done what he could to get her to leave as soon as possible. No stories. No jokes. Please, Venri, I am begging you in my most polite and nonchalant voice, leave me alone.

She’d left him alone.

He’d avoided her to keep from doing a few things he couldn’t stop thinking when he looked at her, when he heard her. He wanted to step closer. He wanted to shake her until she rattled, and then shake her some more. He wanted to drag her off the ship and run away. He wanted her mouth on his throat. It took all of his fading self control to not wrap his hand around the back of her neck and put her there, hold her there. He watched her mouth as she talked, thought about it, clenched his talons. Warm, wet, soft, blunt edges of ridged teeth that dragged along his skin. He’d been unable to imagine what her mouth felt like before, and now he knew.

It had been much better to ask her politely to go away.

Well, better for her, not for him.

He almost wished Thane had told her. If Thane had told her, then she could confront him, and he could show her what she did, convince her to do it again. He could have his teeth at her throat as demonstration.

Thane was trustworthy. Useful but unfortunate information.


	6. Chapter 6

Timeline: Garrus: Eye for an Eye

Meanwhile, on the Citadel

Kasumi: Do you think Harkin is sending you into a trap?

Garrus: I don’t know. We’ll be careful. I’m sorry to drag you into this, but it’s important to me.

Kasumi: I’ll watch him. I’ve had my own experience with loss. It won't be enough. You can’t kill him 10 times. 

Garrus: I get that, but I need to do it once.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She’d stopped Garrus from shooting Harkin, but she really didn’t know why. She hadn't stopped Garrus from nearly breaking Harkin’s neck. Harkin was trash. She knew on any given day, with her being in a perfectly good mood, with a good night’s sleep, she would have shot Harkin herself on sight and put a check box in the "good deed" category. On an impulse she’d grabbed Garrus’s arm to deflect his shot, and she couldn’t even figure out why. It was right, and she knew it, her intuition insisted on it, but she couldn’t articulate why.

The symbolic act of overriding his will and fucking up his aim was entirely foreign to her and she felt a little sick doing it. A lot sick.

A small internal voice told her 'You died, Shepard, maybe your intuition came back fucked.'

We'll see, won't we? Sick and inarticulate wasn’t going to get her very far. To that she was going to have to add bluff and stubborn.

“What do you want from me, Shepard?” Garrus had asked. That phrase stuck in her head and rattled around there, she replayed it over and over on the way to meet Sidonis. Something about his tone. Something about her reaction to it. This wasn't the time for her brain to be cryptic and lead her on a chase.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be calm around him. He used to make her calm, now there was something pushing at her to interfere, to change the outcome, to…

Fuck, what was it?

She was infuriated in general. Each of her crew had something they needed her to do in order to convince them to get the job done. Saving the galaxy involved handing out unreasonable favors to unreasonable people like it was unreasonable Halloween. 

She'd been here before with Garrus, talked him out of killing Dr. Saleon in cold blood, though they still had to kill him. Of course they did. Garrus clearly hadn't learned a fucking thing about letting things go or letting due process put people away. That was a favor, that was before…

Before what, Shepard, spit it out.

This wasn’t the same Garrus, the one that had told her to stay hydrated. Hydrated. That was the best he could do a while back. “Remember to stay hydrated.” Before they had developed a patter, a rhythm, a reliance. This wasn’t the same Garrus that practically begged her to take him along, thanked her repeatedly. This also wasn't the Garrus whose voice had broken out of Turian forced march cadence and softened, who had made her laugh. 

She'd kill any number of people for him, but that wasn't the point. Harkin and Sidonis deserved to die and that wasn't the point. This was eating at him, corroding him. She wasn't sure she could work with this Garrus. Maybe she should start to rely on other team members. Why the hell did he want to drag her into something he should have known better than to ask? She desperately needed him at what she considered to be his best.

This wasn’t like Garrus, this was like Archangel, and she didn’t like him much right now. Was he going to admit that he just liked killing people? That he just wanted to find ways to continue to hate and be angry until the galaxy burned, taking everyone in one go before he managed to shoot them all first? Sometimes it seemed like the Reapers coming would get people what they wanted. Everybody that ever pissed you off could die. That seemed to be a general theme. Yes, part of their job was to kill people, they were good at it, but killing was never the ideal solution. You had to kill when you couldn't fix something by other means. She got to problems after other means failed or were never attempted. She tried to find problems to fix, and then if she had to kill someone to do it, she would. Archangel had wanted to kill people and then went out and manufactured the reasons to do it. There had been no real purpose, no end game to Archangel's plan. He would have just died, nobody knowing who he was, nobody to mourn him, the assholes in Omega repopulating by the next freighter who came to dock. He still didn't see where that path led, him alone and bloody. She didn't want him to be alone and bloody. 

She couldn't tolerate it. Not from him. She wouldn't be pushed into the same place of no compromise the rest of her crew had demanded. Not from him. She needed to know that someone…no, not just someone, that HE…would be capable of not getting what he wanted and still backing her up. If the mission wasn't important enough, what the fuck was she doing supervising children, DANGEROUS children, again, relying on her to make everything right or wrong according to their whims? Garrus had once understood her. He still had the potential to understand, she hoped. If he didn't…well, she would have to see that for what it was.

She wasn't going to do it his way. This had absolutely nothing to do with Harkin’s life or Sidonis’s life because she couldn’t bring herself to care about them after knowing what they’d done. They were not civilians. They were not innocent. Death was probably cleaner for them than prison. She'd rather die than go to someplace like Purgatory. The Reapers were coming. To be in a cell, or in cryo, when they crushed your station or facility…on fire behind bars or dead and not knowing it…

She was getting sidetracked. The sanctity of life or their places on the scumbag scale was not what was important here. She was talking to Archangel as if it were, justifying her choices as if it were, but she knew better. This was her bluff and stubborn making its play.

What do you want from him, Shepard? She asked herself. That was the important part. The rattling part, the part that if she pushed it might make sense.

He'd made his own rules for so long she wondered if he could accept any other rules, or care about the outcome. Should she leave him on the ship from now on, was he not up to this fight? The idea crushed some part of her, sinking vertigo. 

No, not that.

She was suddenly, viciously, furious with him. Being around him was distracting, it was causing her to grab his arm, screw up his aim. It was causing him to turn and growl at her…

What do you want from him, Shepard?

She wanted him to turn and growl at her. 

She was going to do something stupid. 

She stood between Sidonis and Archangel’s rifle, listening to the conversation, expecting at this point to be shot in the back of the head. Fuck it. She was angry and exhausted and if it ended here, the only person she’d really trusted picking the side of vengeance again, so fucking be it. Shoot him through me, Garrus. You believe in a future or you're stuck in the past. Show me I shouldn’t leave you there, that you won’t leave me here. Pick a fucking side. You make a leap or I take a fall. Do. It. 

He didn’t shoot through her. He didn't shoot around her. He let Sidonis go, and the relief came in a giddy flood. Garrus had had his teeth at his obsession's throat and she’d called him away. She was shaking with the adrenaline and half ashamed of enjoying this amount of power over him, but half something else.

What do you want from him, Shepard?

In that moment, Sidonis walking away, her knees almost gave out.

She had a very distinct vision of Garrus being angry, growling at her, grabbing her arm the way she’d grabbed his, then pulling her to him and kissing her. 

That's what you want from him, Shepard.

Well.

Fuck.

That was not what I expected.

On the other hand, a lot of things now make sense.

Do Turians even kiss?

On the other, other hand, I'm an idiot.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After the mission, he’d said he didn't want to talk. She still insisted on taking him through some of it, pleased to see he’d acknowledged another way of existing than black and white. He could at least see that there was something else, even if he didn’t know what to do with that yet. He was angry and disappointed, but also relieved that his instinct to see the good in someone had kicked in. Hard to tell where he’d go from here. She was angry, and relieved, but not disappointed. She knew where she’d go from here. Crisis averted. New crisis discovered. She let it all slide, let it all pass, observe her reactions, his reactions, picking through every scrap of evidence, formulating and testing the theory that her intuition had spit out under stress.

Once she'd started thinking of his hands on her, she couldn't stop thinking about him, so it wasn't a passing whim.

It was a need that had broken out of whatever recess in her brain she'd pushed it during the cluster fuck of emergency, panic and horror that had been their history. This need had built up to critical mass before she had a chance to head it off or think about it. She'd labeled it camaraderie. She'd dismissed possibility because of species and circumstance and the fact that she was his superior officer. She'd sublimated interest in him into encouraging him to find someone else, be happy. More than that, she’d never considered herself a candidate because…he deserved better.

She vehemently now didn't want to see him happy with someone else. That window in time had closed. 

These thoughts, this impulse had the hallmarks of obsession, and she didn't have any interest in countering it. Why the hell not? Everyone else on board had their obsession. She could have one. She WOULD have one.

Now that she had her side of it figured out, time to figure out his side of it. The honest thing to do would be to ask him, but she discarded honesty as insufficient. In their present state of twitchiness and her reaction to his request to kill Sidonis, she could imagine saying "So, Vakarian, hot for me?" He might be startled, but she could imagine him regaining his calm and saying "What? No, Commander. Lukewarm at best." He could shut her down if she went at this wrong.

Unsatisfactory. If he wasn't interested in her, she wanted enough time and space to make him interested in her. Make him? Convince him? Was there a difference if she would not allow the options that would give him a chance to say no?

Abuse of power was the best solution.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Time passed as her mind sifted through her impressions and came to conclusions. She continued to avoid him privately. She wanted to walk to the Battery and...and what, exactly? Back him up against a wall? The idea was so appealing she had to physically stop herself from walking that way, push the resultant images out of her head reluctantly and think. 

Take it easy. As fun as it sounds, easy.

If she went in there, he'd ask her if she needed something, and she really didn't want to hear her unscripted, uncontrolled response to that question.

She'd done some research on Turian anatomy and sexual practices. She determined she wasn't attracted to Turians in general, but to him specifically. She was very capable of keeping this stage of research based on clinical curiosity and wasn't turned on so much as alarmed. Turian on Turian porn was…Whoah. Hey. There was a lot of…scratching and biting and…well, maybe it wasn't that violent ultimately. Scratching and biting of plates didn't do much. It just looked violent to human eyes. Just a fracas. Fracas. She suddenly loved that word. She started giggling, and then it turned into a huge laugh. Then it wound down, she put her head in her hands

She gathered her courage and looked up again. There wasn't…much…actual bleeding. It seemed more of an enthusiasm thing. Like drawing blood was the human equivalent of giving someone a hickey. A blue…bleeding…hickey. Maybe Garrus had no blood curiosity, as he'd had opportunity to see plenty of her blood and she'd never seen him lick it off his finger. Maybe it was more of a smell thing. Gross, Shepard. Stop. She decided she'd bleed for him. Sure, she was in. She’d had much worse injuries for causes that weren’t this important to her.

The anatomy itself was actually very cool. A Turian was like an efficient set of cabinets, everything put away when not being used. A Turian cock was huge, but she imagined that's what happened in porn. She shouldn't judge by…well, evidence. She also couldn't ask Garrus to see up front. Tacky.

Human and Turian porn was on the verge of snuff films. The main category was huge male Turian and tiny human women. Huge male Turians like Garrus. Tiny human women like her. She got the general idea, at least. The good news was that the women didn't actually die. She watched all the way to the end to make sure. So there was potential compatibility. 

There was also huge potential for this being incredibly painful if not fatal.

There was no orgasm among Turians, and no thrusting. The penis appeared articulated, if not actually jointed, coated with a clear gel. Some exchange of chemistry between male and female Turians. With a little research, turned out that the female Turian had half of a brain chemistry cocktail and the male had the other half. Mixed together, they both got a payoff. It just looked like…he…stirred…her. ‘Swizzle stick’ her brain said. Oh, brain, please stop. Please.

What if she didn’t have any chemistry to exchange? Humans and Turians were definitely having sex, though, so there had to be something to it.

She put her head in her hands and massaged her temples again. She still couldn't stop thinking about him. She couldn’t get the image of an embrace, his mouth at her ear, her hands on his shoulders, out of her head. She didn’t even care what he was saying. Just say it. She wanted that.

She knew something about bonding among Turians, but as a human outsider she couldn't get much information that she felt was reliable. From what she could gather, Turians had a lot of casual, easy going sex with multiple partners. If Garrus needed to do that, okay. She just wanted to be one of his partners. At some point Turians gave up casual sex and bonded to another Turian. The Salarians had some research into it, but it was very clinical. Something about transformation. A lot about chemical compounds. Not so much about what that meant. There were no videos of bonded sex. There was a total blackout on the subject, other than that it existed. Bonding had nothing to do with her. As a human she just wouldn’t be able to reciprocate and that wouldn’t be fair. At this point, they were probably going to die anyway. Just a little time with him was worth it. If she wasn’t exactly what he needed or wanted…did that matter so much if he had no other Turians on board anyway to choose from? She was suddenly very grateful she’d never recruited a female Turian. Lucky.

Okay, so it’s unfair and I’m unworthy, and I’ve always behaved more like a bratty little sister with him than a lover. 

Be realistic, Shepard. Bratty, yes. Little, no. Sister, no. You’ve mouthed off to him in ways that would make anybody else you know blush or bring you up on harassment charges. Everybody else would draw a line in the sand, where their humor ended. He played along with your gunshot being the consequence of a Turian honeymoon. He said you wore blue.

On that note, maybe he’d sleep with her to humor her. Possible avenue of approach. File for now. Not a strong starting position, but definitely useful as a plan B or F.

He’d also looked at her appreciatively and suggested sex slavery when she was four inches from being dead. Okay, that was probably just to make her feel five inches from dead.

But maybe…

I can’t really give him anything. Not even an orgasm.

She checked her inner compass. Did that matter? It should. Did it?

Nope.

So that conscience she prided herself on, consideration for others, concern for their wellbeing, all that doesn’t matter?

Right.

Why?

Because he wasn’t just any average Turian. He was Garrus. He liked her. He loved her. Whether she deserved it or not.

She was momentarily overwhelmed with a mix of fear, vulnerability and determination. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe she had nothing to offer. Maybe this is why it had never occurred to her before to want this, or that she’d veered off course every time it had started to occur to her. Because this hurt like being on fire. Needy fire. Needy fire about to crawl to the Battery and beg.

Too late. Her reasonable caution was overwhelmed by an unreasonable obsession. She could at least let him know what was true. Then she'd take the truth from there. If the truth was only hers, then she’d deal with that then. She wouldn’t be a coward about it.

He'd been with her for a year on the original Normandy. She'd never seen him with anyone he appeared interested in, he never talked about anyone. That’s why she’d assumed he was bonded, because otherwise he’d be out with a different Turian each day, right? She’d encouraged him to get someone, he’d called her stupid. He had spent two years alone, and Archangel had no love in him. She'd seen him angry and grieving about his squad, but not about a lover. 

Hey, for the first time she was appreciating Archangel. 

She either had a chance at this, or he was so far deep in love with someone else that he’d never told her about it. How likely was that? Maybe he had been bonded, and she’d died.

He’d have told her. She was sure of it.

Mostly sure. 

Sure enough to take a chance.

Everything considered, she had maybe a 14% chance of getting that embrace. She had 100% certainty of being motivated to exploit those odds. If he said no and it hurt enough to want to die, well, she had that covered, didn't she?

She was not going to let his opinion stop her from at least telling him.

She was in for a fracas and a swizzle sticking. 

If she was lucky.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Sidonis was free. Free. Free and grey.

Morim was avoiding him. He couldn’t blame her for doing it, as he’d avoided her first.

He'd regained his equilibrium. He'd lost his temper with her and still hadn't hurt her, hadn't done her harm. She'd kept her temper with him, as she always did. She'd done what she thought would help him most.

She had dragged him out of what he'd been wanting, and she'd shown him what was really there. Just as she'd done for Kaidan after Ashley died. What you want is not always what you get when you let reality have a vote.

Having Sidonis out of his head kept poison from entering his bloodstream every moment. The reality was that he was very tired, and now could get some sleep without nightmares.

Morim had died and that's the way it was. As much as he'd felt it was the end of the world and he was fully responsible, neither of those things had been true. Sidonis was a coward, not an evil genius with a plan. Sidonis had never been worth his time. He should have honored his squad mates and thought of them, honored their lives. He'd put too much value on being responsible for her death. He'd put too much value on killing mercs. He'd put too much value on killing Sidonis. He'd put no value on living a life worth living.

He and Morim were here and now. He remembered that at her funeral he'd thought he'd give anything to hear her laugh. He'd meant that then. He still meant it now, whatever they were to each other.

He'd gotten his help from her, and for that he should be grateful for every moment. Not counting the cost, not working toward a perfect ending and despairing he wouldn't get there.

He could move forward now, and whatever it had cost her in effort or trust or worry, he'd repay. He could see enough future to see through to that.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She would order him out on a date. 

Jack wanted to blow something up. He liked blowing things up.

She sat next to him on the shuttle, sitting just a fraction closer than she normally would, keeping her attention on him more than she usually would, intent. Not looking at him, but just being aware of him. She could swear he really did smell good. Had he always smelled good? She couldn't remember. He smelled good now. "Do not sniff the Turian, Shepard. Definitely do not lick the Turian." She told herself. "Don't smile, either." She didn't smile.

Jack was nervous and Shepard was seeing the edges of anxiety creep out the sides of her expressions. It was in her eyes, in her jaw. Of all the favors asked of her, this one Shepard would have done on her own, no qualms. She was enjoying the vicarious shot at Cerberus. She'd seen their experiments before and even if this was a highly-compartmentalized past cell of Cerberus behavior, she would still get a thrill out of making it vaporize.

It wasn't out of character to bring Garrus. She'd brought him along on every "favor" asked of her, simply because she trusted his discretion and he wouldn't gossip or betray confidences. She and Garrus had crew mates that maybe they didn't like much, but she knew that both she and Garrus shared the impulse to put aside personal feelings and work for, work as, a team. 

She liked Jack a lot. Jack had massive potential under all that anger. She was a woman of heart and passion, and Shepard had hopes that her passion would boil off all that anger and distill into purpose. It was not a very high probability. There was maybe a 17% chance that Jack wouldn't continue on her rampage when this was over, if she lived. Shepard had expected Jack to desert, and had agonized a little bit about letting her out into the world, but something about Jack had kindled some hope in her. If she deserted, Shepard wouldn't pursue her. Security was under orders to let her go if she attempted escape, to not do her any harm, and to not allow themselves to be harmed. 

She was surprised that Jack was there at all after she got Cerberus's files to check out. Jack had also asked for her help, and that was, under the circumstances, an honor.

Jack probably justified asking her as the easiest way to get something done, to get her own back, but there was the expression in her eyes and her jaw again. She wanted help. She wanted a witness. She wanted Shepard. Jack could have taken what she wanted, could have left, could have blown this place alone. She didn't. Shepard was fascinated by Jack. It was as if she were a botanist who had found a new kind of carnivorous, poisonous plant in the forest. It had a bud. Nothing to do but watch, any interference might keep it from blooming. She was willing to let her eat a few things and kill a few things to see what would happen.

Would blowing something up make Jack bloom? She was willing to give it a try. She wasn’t a botanist, but she was a hell of a demolitions expert.

It was an intimate thing, Jack's face.

Shepard had a few things to do on this trip that had nothing to do with the actual trip, but setting a bomb was easy. Put Jack at ease. Watch Garrus's reactions to…what…stimuli? Yes. Stimuli. 

She was a terrible person and she was okay with that.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He was feeling more than a little out of place, off balance. Jack was going to make something explode and he'd prefer to have someone guard the shuttle. He didn't trust Jack enough to not blow Morim up in the process. He and Morim had kept a weird, isolated distance and it dragged at him. It wasn't like Jack to be suicidal and go up in a ball of flame, but he didn't want to bet on reading her correctly. The setup was volatile as he understood it. 

He was getting used to Morim being alive again, and maybe not staying that way. He could commit to this…whatever this was, this flaming out death trap mission they were on. Morim continued to take him out for missions. Maybe her interest had been just the red sand and proximity. Maybe she’d worked through it and the answer was ‘no’ in full consciousness. Maybe that was okay. What was left of his life was of value, if it could serve a purpose, if he could contribute to keeping her alive.

Morim was sitting too close and was too intent for his comfort. Maybe she needed him to give them some privacy. Too many variables. Couldn't hurt to suggest it.

"Would you like me to stay behind and guard the shuttle? Explosives usually require exit strategies." he offered.

“Deal with being my arm candy, Vakarian” Morim said evenly, a tone he recognized. This he knew. She didn't look at him.

After a pause he answered “It’s nice to know I’m valued for my strengths.” Morim still didn't look at him, but from what he could see of her, that relaxed her shoulders a little. That relaxed his shoulders a little.

Jack rolled her eyes, but her expression had also relaxed from the interruption. 

Garrus admired Jack in the way he admired Krogan. She was predictable. She put on a good show, but he wasn't concerned that she'd do him harm. She talked a loud game. He considered it threat behavior, chest pounding, territory defending. He recognized it. Most of the rest of the crew hadn’t spent as much time with her as he had. After recruiting Mordin, Morim had brought him with her on every mission. From what he could see, everyone left Jack alone in Engineering except for Morim. They were apprehensive about having to deal with her at all. She wouldn’t hurt Morim on purpose. If Jack respected anybody, it was Morim. That became more and more apparent as time went by. Asking for help at all was not something he would have predicted. She should get help.

They moved into the facility, a wreck. The vegetation and rot had mostly claimed the place already, it was hardly worth blowing up, but his distaste for the place made him think it did have a symbolic purpose. Cleanse this place where a woman like Jack was tortured as a girl, where children were drugged and thrust into an arena.

When they were rushed by a pack of varren, Shepard sounded wistful. "I want a varren."

Garrus answered as if grouchy "You can't have a varren, Shepard."

She answered "Well, I can't have that one. That one's dead. I need a nice varren."

Jack was irritated, and she said "Would you please both get a room. Killing things here."

Shepard answered "I don't need a room, I have a ship. I have every room. We could have the gravity turned off and have sex on the ceiling." That tone he didn’t recognize. That was new. She was looking directly at him as she delivered this line and he was staring back at her. Jack was busy yelling at her prey, so she didn't hear the "We." 

He had no answer. No joke to be made. No voice to be found.

Morim waited a beat, waited two beats, her expression moving from warm to intent.

He still had no answer. His brain had frozen except for the trickle of heat he had heard in her voice, that he saw in her eyes.

Then she gave him the most radiant smile he'd ever seen. Spirits, she was beautiful. If she could smile at him like that, if he could hear her stupid varren jokes, this would work.

Her expression changed to intently murderous, she shifted her focus over his shoulder and cast a reave on the pyro that was about to set him on fire. 

He focused back on the fight, the only conclusion that he could come to was that she was fucking with him. She wasn’t angry at least. It was just some bizarre Shepard thing he couldn’t fathom thrown on the pile of those like it, to be sorted out later into sub groups. “Insane Actions” “Inexplicable Speech” “Suicidal Plans.” He smiled and felt things could maybe get back to some semblance of normal. Get the job done.

The “uninhabited” compound was definitely inhabited. He was glad he hadn’t been left with the shuttle.

Was there a point at which he was going to be surprised and not be surprised about being surprised?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in Pragia facility

Garrus: Jack. You didn’t deserve what happened to you here.

Jack: I don’t need your pity.

Garrus: It’s not pity.

Jack: Yeah? Well…thanks.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She felt a little bit better. Garrus not being able to keep up was gratifying. He didn’t chime in, which was good. Not knowing what to say was good. He also didn’t tell her to keep it in her pants like he had years ago. That was also good. Sketchy evidence. Enough to go on? 

She should have tackled him years ago. Fuck, she was unapologetically stupid. He’d told her so. She flashed over his answers to her stupidity leaking out through her mouth over time. She wasn’t wrong. He had not discouraged her.

She should be patient and not let this revelation spur her to greater stupidity.

Right. Patience. That thing she didn’t do sometimes.

She didn’t stop her feet from heading directly toward the Battery.

Garrus said “Shepard, need me for something?”

Shepard thought very deliberately, ready for the question and not willing to be diverted to a thoroughly honest answer. “Have you got a minute?”

He said “Sure. Just killing time anyway. Optimizing weapons charges, planning attack vectors. You know. Relaxing.”

She thought "That makes one of us."

He said “I wanted to thank you for your help with Sidonis. Whatever happens with the Collectors or the Reapers or whoever comes after us...I know you’ll get the job done."

She said “I couldn’t do this without you, Garrus.”

He answered lightly “Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.”

She relaxed and sat down. He’d just answered the first five questions of hers within a minute. He wasn’t angry. He was still willing to joke. He was over Sidonis. He was okay with the mission. He was willing to believe they’d survive. This was going…so much better than she’d feared.

He continued "I’m still trying to figure out how to prepare for this mission. Humans don’t deal with stress the way Turians do.”

She raised a brow "How do Turian crews get ready for high-risk missions?" Was he actually volunteering information again, instead of treating her as though talking to her was an annoyance? That would be nice.

He said "With violence, usually. Turian ships have more operational discipline than your Alliance, but fewer personal restrictions. Our commanders run us tight, and they know we need to blow off steam. Turian ships have training rooms for exercise, combat sims, even full-contact sparring. Whatever lets people work off stress.”

She thought "Mmm. Full contact sparring." but said “You mean Turian ships have crewmen fighting each other before a mission?”

He clarified “It’s supervised, of course. Nobody is going to risk an injury that interferes with the mission. And it’s a good way to settle grudges amicably.”

Shepard thought “I am all about settling grudges amicably.”

Garrus said “I remember right before one mission we were about to hit a Batarian pirate squad. Very risky. This recon scout and I had been at each other’s throats. Nerves, mostly. She suggested we settle it in the ring.”

Morim replied "I assume you took her down gently?"

He continued, watching her "Actually, she and I were the top-ranked hand-to-hand specialists on the ship. I had reach, but she had flexibility. It was brutal. After nine rounds, the judge called it a draw. There were a lot of unhappy bettors in the training room. We, ah, ended up holding a tiebreaker in her quarters. I had reach, but she had flexibility. More than one way to work off stress, I guess."

She thought "That's it. He did it. He actually did it. Now I can do it." She said “It sounds like you’re carrying some tension. Maybe I could help you get rid of it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He choked for a moment. "Are…we…still talking about sparring? It really does not sound like she's talking about sparring. I really better make sure she's not talking about sparring." He said “I, uh, didn’t think you’d feel like sparring, Commander.” 

He thought "Smooth. Idiot." She said “What if we skipped right to the tie breaker? We could test your reach, and my flexibility.”

Despite all his intentions of being cool, he fumbled. Again. He really should have thought this out further. This is what happens when you think the woman you love won't make a move ever. You don't plan. While thinking this he tripped over his first sentence, and then tried to put the right amount of warmth into the last few words, once he stopped stuttering. "Oh, I didn’t…Hm. Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars. Well, why the hell not? There’s nobody in the Galaxy I respect more than you. And if we can figure out a way to make it work, then yeah, definitely." No, I never knew you had a thing for a particular man with a scar. I hoped like hell…but I never knew.

And then she walked out. Of course she did.

He smiled. Well, one of us at least stopped talking before we fucked it up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments and kudos, it has been so much fun to write and even more fun to hear about it.

Shepard

Did he really just agree? Not just agree but use the word “definitely”? She’d given him a way out, and she was afraid he’d take it, but he hadn’t. She’d just done something incredibly stupid. There was no doubt about that. Stupid, definitely. Worth it? Hopefully. She’d run out of there in order to not jump up and down and shout something undignified, or actually tackle him. Relief of tension. She could work with that. Okay. Now, at least, she had some time to settle her mind, play it cooler than she’d managed so far, in order to avoid gnawing bits off the man. 

She had a chilling thought. Oh, shit it would have been really nice if she’d thought of this before…she just did what she did. She broke it down logically. She was his commanding officer. He was part of her crew. What if Turians couldn’t turn down sexual requests from superior officers? She damned herself for not knowing much about Turians generally and not enough about one Turian specifically. Biting her lip she opened the comm to him.

“Garrus? You there?” She kept her voice steady.

He answered casually. “I’m here. Just wrestling with settings. Working out some new upgrades. Once I know something more solid I’ll put in a requisition for materials. Best to take advantage of the Cerberus carrot before it turns into the Cerberus stick.”

She hesitated for a moment, but asked him anyway “Would you please meet me in my quarters?”

He hesitated for the same moment and then after a deliberately taken breath he said “Of course. I’ll be right there after I clean up.”

She paced until he arrived, flaring a blue aura around herself at intervals. No force, no direction, just a timed summoning of energy. It had been an early drill in her training, and she found it comforting. Biotics practice was as good as a workout for her. Something to focus on that wouldn’t spin the wheels in her brain too fast. Her reflection in the fish tank was of a small woman, red shoulder-length hair, green eyes. Weird glowing red scars. Check. Recently dead. Check. There were things she’d done that she couldn’t have accomplished without sheer stubborn ramrod intent. Was that what she was doing? Ramrodding Garrus, so to speak? Of course she was. She winced. She couldn’t…and shouldn’t do that to him. His emotional state, his injuries, his…everything. He deserved better. Of course he deserved better, that was her problem all along. She felt like collapsing under the weight of her accumulated stupidity. 

A proximity beep cued to his biometrics let her know he was at the door and she answered it herself instead of calling him to let himself in. He stepped past her silently and into the room, seemingly interested in her fish. Now that she had him here, she had no idea what to say. Thought fled and she chided herself for piling one rash action on top of another. She had to clarify. How to clearly state that I am an idiot. Like he doesn’t already know.

Words came out of her mouth in a disorganized mess, dignity not even on the list of things she was doing. “Garrus…I asked…I’m not sure if I asked you for too much. There’s a chain of command and…and you told a story about reach and flexibility and I’m afraid my reach may not…deserve my grasp…so to speak.” She trailed off.

He turned his head slowly and looked at her, amused and confused, his head tilted to the side in a universal expression of questioning.

She paused a moment, hoping he would somehow understand her garbled delivery, set her at ease. That moment passed, and then the next. No, she was going to swing on this hook. He was going to watch. Dammit. She took another deep breath and said “I’m wondering if my…rank gives me privileges I don’t deserve and I shouldn't assume. I’m wondering if because of Turian sensibility, I just ordered you to sleep with me. I meant…I only meant to ask.”

His mouth plates trembled, and her eyes narrowed. He was suppressing laughter. He was enjoying this. She suddenly felt much better. This she understood. She was an idiot, but he knew she was an idiot and it was okay. She was backed up against the door to her quarters for support as she considered her next move. Unfortunately she was moveless. She didn't think that freezing like a baby deer was going to get her anywhere, but she thought maybe stopping talking would be a good idea. 

He turned to face her in a standard parade rest, feet out comfortably to brace his balance, hands behind his back. “Was there an actual question in there?" He paused and said in an overly helpful voice that would sound condescending to anyone with working ears "Need help finding it?”

Her own lips twitched and she almost spoke but as she was opening her mouth he spoke louder “Because if you’re ordering me to sleep with me and my Turian honor compels me to do so, I can probably manage it, though I’m not sure, I’m pretty delicate.”

She tried to formulate another retort, but he started walking toward her slowly and said even louder “I’ve never had a commanding officer command me to do anything of the sort, but serving on a human vessel, I’m willing to accommodate some cultural differences.”

He stopped very close to her and resumed parade rest again, but leaning forward. “Permission to speak freely, Commander?”

She pushed against his armor. “Stop being obnoxious.”

He didn’t move against her hands. Not a budge. “Not sure I can, Ma’am. Turian, you know.”

She sighed. “Mercy. I’ve made a mess of it. I’m sorry. This is bloody well new to me.” 

He said skeptically. "Mercy? For Commander Shepard, scourge of the…well, scourge of everything. You don't discriminate in your scourging."

She said "Or keelhauling."

He asked "What is keelhauling? Is that a human euphemism for something dirty?"

She said informatively "No, it's what sea captains used to do to crew members who displeased them. Tie them on a looooong rope and throw them over the side, to be dragged under by the ship's keel and scraped by barnacles until they drowned. I'm not sure if they were ever pulled back up or just left as shark food."

He sounded offended "Humans are disgusting. So theoretically by the end of the cruise there are 5 or 10 ropes over the side like evil tea bags. I'm against it." 

She closed her eyes and said "Thank you very much for not clarifying."

His voice was warm and resonant. “Turians don’t command sexual favors. It’s strictly voluntary.”

Morim smiled and said with exaggerated hopefulness “Well, then, let me ask again, more clearly. Would you volunteer?”

Garrus said quietly “I would.”

She smiled in relief and he tilted his forehead to touch hers. He closed his eyes and said softly “We’ll find our way, Morim.”

She closed her eyes against the press of his forehead. He was cooler than she was, body temperature differences were something new, something to know about him, something to learn about him. She whispered “Oh, say my name again.”

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her neck and said her name, drawing out the word, sub-vocals purring, the sound caressing her spine.

She said ardently “I have never appreciated the “m’s” in my name so much until now.”

"Now I have a question" his mouth was still close to her neck, breathing softly, causing her to shiver.

She arched her neck "Hmm? What's your question?"

He hesitated but said "I have a theory about your scent.” He breathed along her throat and collarbone. "I know you when you are afraid or if you are angry or if you are exerted. I know the scent of your skin, sweat and blood.” He paused and said wryly “I could have done with less of your blood."

She smiled and he heard it in her voice. "Oh, me too. What is your theory?"

He paused at her collarbone "There’s something I haven't been able to identify."

She considered “I died, you know. Maybe it’s cybernetics?”

He shook his head “No, it’s not that.”

She shivered and stroked her hand over his head, settling on the tips of his fringe. "Can you credit that humans have pheromones and possibly other biological markers of interest?"

He considered and said "I'd think it was that, but this…this didn't just start happening. It's stronger now, but I've…"

She waited, smiling. He caught up. He lifted his eyes to hers. He leaned his hand on the door behind her. "So…I have a few variables to consider."

She nodded and said "Feel free to show your work."

He said with rich humor "This is you wanting me. There's no way that's not fun."

She smiled a crooked smile and held up her hands. "Guilty."

He lifted his eyes again "The surprise is not so much that you want me, considering you just told me. The surprise is how often and for how long."

She held his gaze and raised a brow. 

His face shifted into a teasing question "In the middle of a fight?"

She nodded. "Only if you're there."

He took another breath and said "Is it my rifle? It's probably my rifle." And then he said  
softly "Turians have pheromones."

She smiled "Does it have to do with the fact that you smell like a combination of cookies and sex?"

Garrus said "Something like that. Turian men can be interested, but it's the woman that makes the first real move. Then we can reciprocate."

She raised a brow "I…oh hell. I should have figured that part out."

He said “Don’t worry. I was aware that you were human. I didn’t expect you to know.” He arched his neck, lifted her hand and guided her nails to the edge of a plate on his shoulders, about where a human collarbone would be. He turned her hand and brushed her nails along the line of her jaw.

She breathed in and sighed out a soft hiss of breath. "That...is…not fair."

His voice was concerned, rapid "Morim. Are you okay? Your eyes are…that's how you look when you're going to faint. I've seen it. It's usually not a good sign. What are your eyes doing?"

She smiled "Crossing. My eyes are crossing."

EDI said "Commander Shepard, the Illusive Man wishes to speak to you in the conference room."

She closed her eyes "Thank you, EDI. I'll be right there." She sighed and said "Let's not die, okay? That would suck."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Investigate the Collector Ship

Illusive Man: I'm concerned that you might be losing your focus and I need to be sure that you can finish the mission as it stands. Members of your crew may die. Are you willing to make the sacrifices necessary?

Shepard: There are some people I would be okay letting die. There are others that I would give my life to save and consider it an honor. You are on the first list. Indulge your voyeurism quietly.

Illusive Man: You can't imagine I would ignore information that is important. It's my job.

Shepard: I create important information, that's my job. You can file it anywhere you want. Don't tell me about me again. 

Illusive Man: I understand your investment in this operation. I understand mine.

Shepard: I doubt that. If you come anywhere near my people, and these are…my…people, I will find you. I will hold you personally responsible for any "accident" that may happen on my ship. There's a line. Stay on your side of it. I'll go check out the Collector ship and I thank you for the information. Shepard out.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

They’d mucked their way through the Collector ship. He’d become aware very quickly that his restraint was melting off him in rivulets. Now he knew she definitely wanted him. Now he knew she had for a long while. Maybe even she didn’t know for how long. It gave him strength, it gave him ferocity. It had been a difficult mission, but he’d felt no fear, only the precise focus of a meaningful fight and a smolder fanning into flame every time he looked at her.

After they'd gotten back, he'd started to do some research about human customs, and then he got confused and worried.

Turian sex began fast and then got slower. Human sex started slow and then got frantic. His sense of pacing was gone. 

He could have sworn he heard humans call each other 'baby' and that was disgusting. He was not going to ask for an explanation unless it came up. Maybe not even then.

Turians did not have multiple partners…at one time. This seemed to be a common theme in human sex. This was not going to be negotiable, as he was inclined to kill anybody who touched her. He'd learned that humans, that she…touched others a great deal; hugs, handshakes, casual arms on shoulders or waists, kisses on the side of the cheek. He'd grown used to it, it was just the way she was. Most people did not touch her casually due to her rank and were vaguely surprised when she did it. He, Joker and Tali were the only people that had gotten used to it that he’d seen. She’d avoiding touching Kaidan. She didn’t want to encourage someone who was attracted to her if she didn’t reciprocate. The idea of her touching someone else or someone else touching her sexually made him feel simultaneously infuriated and akin to bleeding out, which was a feeling fresh in his mind. It was something he might have to be bear, something he would have to be prepared to endure. What would happen if she expressed…what…versatility? He'd been versatile once, he could understand it intellectually, but every other part of him rebelled at the idea. Could he do it? Could, he, for instance, stand behind her and watch if she became interested in Thane, if she became interested in someone else? Would he shoot Thane in the back of the head? Accidentally on purpose? He liked Thane a lot, and he suspected he would still shoot him. Thane wasn’t an issue, she wasn’t attracted to him, she wasn’t attracted to Jacob, he was sure of it. However, both of those men would follow her if she crooked a finger their way. She was in his blood, of his blood and he might have been able to resist killing someone before, but now his hands his heart considered it his absolute right to do so.

Please, Bakan, do not let this issue come up. I would never hurt you, but I would be compelled to hurt someone else. Myself first. I hope it would only be myself, but right now I can't promise that. And if things go as they’re going …it will get worse. This is becoming less a choice I was willing to make and more a need deciding my actions for me.

He’d been taught to treat bonding with respect, but he hadn’t been warned about what he was experiencing. It wasn’t just a focus on her, which was what he had been warned about. It was everything in focus because of her. He had expected to look at her and love her, which he did…but this was also…every time he looked at anything else it had some relationship to her that he had to identify before he could allow it to pass, get near her. He wanted to be a gatekeeper for her, stand physically in front of her at every moment, intercept every threat. She would never allow that. Would he have chosen her if she would allow that? He couldn't imagine her that way, so he accepted that he didn't want to change who she was, just preserve it.

He located some human sex that was single partners and that was less confusing and more encouraging, but still disturbing in the sense that he had claws and there was too much unprotected skin.

There was a lot to worry about. Too many directions from here ended up with someone in pain or dead.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Despite the horrors of the Collector Ship, she felt good. It had been horrible, and she was viciously angry at the Illusive Man, but she was alive and she’d let him know, so there was nothing else to be done about that. Nothing that she hadn’t already been doing and would continue to do. She'd gotten some sleep, and after waking up, she took a long shower and started thinking about what else she might want other than not being tired, not being isolated, and not being worried. Well, not being worried about the next few hours.

Waffles sounded like a good addition to that list. She’d already figured out that Gardner didn’t know how to make them, so she’d gathered everything together and today was going to be a day off.

She headed down to the mess and politely requested to commandeer his station. She promised to trade waffles for his time. It would really only take up a corner of the space, he could keep doing what he was doing. It would take a while because waffle batter had to sit and bask. There was science involved, she knew, but really she just considered it needed to mellow out and be happy, be prepared for the state of waffle worship. Yeah, yeah, starch and liquid taking time to come together doesn’t sound as happy. Waffles should be happy.

It took about an hour for the first batch, but she didn’t want to leave them alone, so she just sat at a mess table and did some reading. No reports, no stats, no research. Something to rest the mind and go with waffles. So light, puffy, sweet… and new today. So something off the best sellers list, then. She decided she’d just start with the most popular, and if it sucked, work her way down.

It took three books, but she finally found something fun. She’d brought with her a huge waffle iron that made four at a time, made a test batch and although she screwed those up, by the second round she’d figured out the mechanics and the heat setting enough to think they would pass inspection. Melted butter and warm syrup she mixed together and ladled over the batch generously.

She’d started to gather a crowd and handed out the first plates to a few people to happy reviews.

Word started to spread, and she started dishing out more waffle history and waffle plates. Karin came out and started on hers. Morim grabbed a plate and excused herself, then went up to the CIC and brought them to Joker.

She presented him with the plate.

He said “Uh…what the hell are those, they look scary.”

She said “Waffles.”

He said “You just made that word up. I’ve seen how jokes like this turn out. No thanks.”

She sliced off a corner and then ate a bite. “I promise. They’re not poison. If you don’t want them I’ll take them back to the rest of the people waiting for more.”

He said “Waaaait, wait, whoah. Okay. I might have been hasty. They’re whatfles now?”

She said “Waffles. Try.”

He fumbled with them a moment, and then took a bite. “Okay. That’s really weird, but really good.”

She said “I knew you were smart. Stubborn, but smart.”

He smiled “Obviously.”

Shepard kissed the top of his cap and then turned to head back down. “Let me know if you want some more, I’ll bring those up too.”

She collected Kelly on her way back down and when she got back to the mess, Kasumi was making more. Morim observed and then said “I love delegating to the competent.”

Kasumi said “I watched for a little while.”

Morim laughed “I wouldn’t expect any less. I bequeath all my waffle secrets to thee.”

The tables were full of people, and waffles were a hit. Miranda had some, Jacob had some, Kelly went down to collect Gabby and Kenneth, and there was a full blown waffle party.

Miranda said “I’ve never heard of these. What is…the brown stuff?”

Morim said “Syrup, maple syrup. It’s from tree sap. Now that I think of it, Kaidan would really like to have some waffles. Canada is the traditional home of maple syrup.”

Jacob said “He missed out, I’ll have his.”

Stories started about people’s favorite foods, and Morim happily listened to someone’s grandmother’s favorite recipe, or the little corner place nobody else knew about. She discovered that Jack loved cookies and gave her a thumbs up. She should get the stuff to make chocolate chip cookies. Maybe she could convince Jack to lick the spoon.

Garrus came out to investigate the noise and stood behind her chair and asked “What’s this about?”

She said “Waffles. Vintage Earth food. How to describe them…uh…the waffle itself is made from a grain source that’s been pulverized…flour, mixed with milk and eggs. Milk is the fluid a mother cow makes to feed her baby cows, and eggs, which are the encapsulated offspring of chickens. That is mixed together and then solidified by heat. Then on top is butter, which is the milk with most of the liquid removed and only the fat remaining. Then the maple syrup is tree sap that is boiled down until it is concentrated.”

Garrus nodded and said “That sounds disgusting. I mean, really, really disgusting. I have to create a new level of disgusting just to give it a classification.”

Morim said “Yeah, I’m afraid something is lost in translation. They’re crunchy and soft and sweet.”

He said “What is sweet, by the way, there’s no Turian equivalent.”

She said “Huh. Well, a human tastes a few things, salty, sweet, bitter and sour.”

He says “Salty, bitter and sour I get.”

She said “Weird. Well…sweet is…really? You don’t have sweet?”

He said “It means a few things for humans, I think. The flavor, and then it also can describe other things, moods or feelings.”

She said “Yes. Okay, well…our bodies run on calories, and we get those mostly from sugars and fats.”

He said “Okay, sugars I get. Alcohol and plant derivatives, lots of chemical sugars. Turians eat the proteins and the fats. Sugars provide the sweet?”

She said “Yes. Well, for us, bitter and sour are accents to flavor, but not necessarily our favorites. We crave salt, and salt tastes good, but sugar and sweet…well…many humans crave that over other things. We say they have a sweet tooth. Eat too much, though, and you get fat. Granulated sugar or things like maple syrup, is intensely sweet. Then we can mix it with other flavors and it tastes amazing. So the waffle here is something that is bland, but soaks up the flavor of the syrup. Apart they aren’t as good as they are together. The waffle provides the texture, and the syrup provides the sweet. So it isn't necessarily good for us, but we want it anyway.”

Garrus said “Turians can’t taste sweet, but we have a craveable component to what we eat.”

She said “What do you call it?”

He leaned over and said “Suntkan. It means something like necessary. So for us, there’s really only one source of life, of pleasure. The other flavors, salty, sour and bitter, can accent it, but we can’t live on those. Even our versions of alcohol are fermented sources of Suntkan. They’re one and the same, and it's all good for us. So for a Turian there’s no sense of being divided, or torn between what we need and what we want.”

He’d leaned closer while saying this and his words got closer to her ear and softer. She smiled, her eyes closed and then said “You’re talking about food…right?”

He pulled back a little and said “Of course I am. And we’ve clarified that your food is disgusting, so my work is done here.”

She tilted her head down and laughed, and Garrus went to go talk to Zaeed, who was on his third plate.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Zaeed had been absolutely no help about human customs. Relying on his recommendations was not something he’d be doing without supervision and consent. He was going to have to get advice from several different sources and then triangulate, because it all sounded improbable.

He’d seen enough in bars to know alcohol was part of it. They couldn’t drink the same things, so they’d keep with their tradition. He’d bring a bottle, she’d bring a bottle, same as after Virmire and since. Comforting to have a solution already in place.

Comfort.

Seductions shouldn’t begin with “I hope I don’t kill you.”

Morim came in to see him and his nervousness was at its peak. She smiled and raised a brow. He closed the door behind her, shrugged and said “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about…blowing off steam…easing tension…are we crazy to even be thinking about this?”

Morim shrugged “Yes.”

He smiled “Right. Crazy is really the standard, isn’t it?”

Morim said “I’ve never really been able to try a non-crazy environment for long.”

He sighed “You sure you don’t want something a little closer to home, that won’t, for instance, cause an allergic reaction that might kill you?”

She said “I don’t want something closer to home. I want you. I want someone I can trust.”

He said “All right. You don’t want to run screaming. I can do that. I’ll find some music…and do some more research to figure out how this should work. It’ll either be a night to treasure, or a horrible inter-species awkwardness thing. In which case, fighting the Collectors will be a welcome distraction. So, you know, a win either way.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She pressed her lips together and said carefully “You know, Garrus, if you’re not comfortable with this, it’s okay. I’m not trying to pressure you.” Then she noticed she’d stepped closer and put her hands on him. So…mixed signals. She suspected she was lying. Screw suspected. She was lying.

Garrus leaned forward, took her hand in his and said “Morim, you’re about the only friend I’ve got left in this screwed up galaxy. I’m not going to pretend I’ve got a fetish for humans…but this isn’t about that. This is about us. You don’t ever have to worry about making me uncomfortable. Nervous, yes. But never uncomfortable.”

She asked quietly “So when should I book the room?”

He paused a moment and then said “I’d wait, if you’re okay with it. Disrupt the crew as little as possible…and take that last chance to find some calm just before the storm. You know me. I always like to savor the last shot before popping the heat sink. Wait. That metaphor just went somewhere horrible.”

She laughed, and said “You know, there are times when I really want to reach up and muss your hair, and I can’t. I’ll let you get back to work.”

He said “Right. ‘Cause I’m in a great place to optimize firing algorithms right now.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Dossier, Tali

Morim had truly had it with Jack’s bullshit, right up to where she was drowning in it. Geth were closing in from every direction and the sun was trying to kill them and Jack still could not keep her shit together, she was busy grandstanding.

Morim shouted at Jack “Keep your ass behind cover!”

Jack acted as though she didn’t hear her and she yelled it again “KEEP YOUR ASS BEHIND COVER, JACK”

She knew Jack heard her that time, but her only reaction was a snarl. Those were all the chances Jack got. Morim said in a quiet tone that could still be heard, but just barely “Get your ass behind cover or I will knock you on it myself.”

Jack continued to ignore her and continued to stand on top of what she should be behind. Morim and Garrus were busy picking off the people that were aiming at Jack as she presented a huge, loud target. Morim stopped covering for her. Jack was shot twice and still didn’t back down. Morim traded a look with Garrus, and then he stopped covering for Jack, and started picking off the other targets. Morim took down two more until there were only two remaining, both shooting at Jack, and Jack’s attacks started going wild. She nodded at Garrus again, and indicated he was on his own, he nodded back.

Morim stood up, knocked Jack off her perch with a shockwave and sent her sprawling. Someone was still shooting at Jack and she saw Jack scramble and panic, but Jack’s instincts drove her toward her target, instead of back to safety. Morim knocked her forward one more time, sending her flat against a wall, the breath taken out of her. Panic had shot through Jack’s expression. Morim had taken no damage, so she could afford some grandstanding of her own. Morim stood her ground as Jack scrambled back up, her back to the wall, trying to decide whether to take out Morim or take out her target. Garrus took his final shot and the target went down.

Jack’s eyes swung back to Morim and there was a wash of confusion, panic and fury on her face. Jack snarled at her and looked as if she were about to wind up to hit back, and Morim held up one finger, and there was a distinct click of a rifle.

Jack looked back and forth between the two of them and said “Look, just because the two of you are fucking –“

Morim dropped her hand and said “Fucking? Garrus, are we fucking?”

He said “Does inside my head count?”

Morim said “Or inside mine? Yeah, that probably counts. Okay, Jack. We’re practically fucking.”

Jack was confused and Morim drew out the silence, clarifying that Jack had no response.

Morim spoke kindly “Fucking is not something I’m ashamed of doing. I wouldn’t be ashamed to fuck Garrus, I wouldn’t be ashamed to fuck you, Jack.”

Jack said “Oh for –“

Garrus said “Please don't put that image in my head ever again.”

Morim interrupted “What I do is LOVE Garrus, Jack. I love him. Fucking is a small subset of that. I’m not ashamed of loving him, either. You need to decide some things. I’ve tolerated your bullshit because most of the time so far the stuff we have faced is relatively easy. Garrus and I are accustomed to doing things on our own, because just like you, lots of people who came before you were unconscious while Garrus and I did the heavy lifting. It’s getting harder out here, Jack. We might, at some point, get to the point where we need you behind cover, and not in some dramatic heap of tattoos and rage.”

Jack snarled “Fuck you, Shepard.”

Morim said “Look, Jack, I love you too, but fucking is not going to be a small subset of that.”

Garrus said “Glad to hear it.”

Morim said “Listen, Subject Zero. You were raised to lash out, drugged and confused. You told me narcotics hit your veins when you attacked. I don’t need that. The assholes that raised you needed that.”

Jack made to lunge for her and Morim knocked her back again.

Morim said “Do you see this? You keep wanting to run at me and I keep putting you down because I am a ranged weapon. That’s what you should be. I use my head, I use my environment, and I do not have narcotics or tingles flooding my veins, what I have is Gods damned fucking sanity and I need you to tear a hunk of that out of your perfectly serviceable head and get your shit together. You are in trouble right now, because although you are strong, you are passionate, and you are powerful, you are alone. You don’t work with us as a team, you let those fuckers who raised you in hell get into your head and I need them out, now. You’re on your ass and Garrus and I have you at our mercy because we are smart and we are sane and we have no more leeway for you to work out your issues on the bad guys. You want to mock love, you want to mock loyalty, you want to mock me for indulging in those things? Love is what has kept me alive.”

Garrus said “Except when you died.”

Morim said “Shut up Garrus. You weren’t there, it didn’t count.”

Garrus said “It counts.”

Morim said “Okay, love has MOSTLY…kept me alive. I plan on it continuing to keep me alive. You are my crew, Subject Zero, and I love you like a dysfunctional adopted child who is going to set my house on fire, but I have had it with watching you try to kill yourself in some misguided attempt to prove you’re not afraid to die. I need to see that you are not afraid to live. You will accept that both Garrus and I will cover for you, and might even die for you, with you, if you can’t be part of a team. We have given that to you, but before I take your ass into another horrifying place, I need to know that you will not lose your shit. You have three choices. You can attack me and I can knock you back into the sun here and keep you there until you fry. It would be very dramatic. You could go to your death with that victim mentality you cling to, being betrayed as you always expected. I can drop you off at whatever hellhole you want. You can re-enact Subject Zero fantasies of rebellion and power until the Reapers come and kill you. It would be very pathetic, and a huge waste of potential. Or you can stay behind fucking cover, retool your passion and power to preserve yourself and not prove that you’re a badass every second. We know you’re a badass. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a badass. You don’t belong to me. Rebelling against me for the sake of rebellion is bullshit, because I’m on your side. Give yourself back to yourself, Jack, and help us out here. Make your choice.”

Jack spent some time with her head tilted back, eyes closed and neck muscles straining. She laughed and then said “Well, shit, Shepard, you could have just told me to stay behind cover.”

Morim stepped to Jack and offered her a hand, and Jack took it and stood up.

Jack said “I don’t have to make waffles or some shit, do I?”

Morim said “No, maybe cookies. Voluntary.”

Garrus said “I don’t have to hug her, do I?”

Morim said “Not necessary.”

Both Jack and Garrus made relieved sounds.

Jack said “When you guys do start fucking, watch your ass, Garrus, she’s mean.”

Garrus said “You have no idea.”

Morim said “I love you guys.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Morim met Tali down in Engineering and looped her arms around her shoulders. "Tali, love, I have missed you. I can't even tell you how much. Are you feeling all right, no damage from Haestrom?"

Tali turned and turned the loop into a full hug "I've missed you too. I'm so sorry I didn't come with you."

Morim backed out of the hug and held up a hand "It's forgotten. If I'm allowed to be dead for two years, you're allowed to take some time to finish up previous commitments."

Tali said drily "You weren't allowed to be dead for two years, just so you know."

Morim smiled "I'll try really, really hard not to do it again."

Tali said "So you're retiring?"

Morim said "Hopefully. Eventually. Come on, let's go take a walk on Ilium."

She and Tali swung by to pick up Garrus and they docked.

Once they had landed, Morim pointed to her Omni Tool, Garrus disabled his while she disabled hers and Tali disabled hers without asking why. Morim threw her arms around both Tali and Garrus, and Garrus said kindly "She's going to cry."

Tali said "I wouldn't mind."

Morim hugged Tali tighter and said "He's just jealous."

Garrus said "I am, sometimes. Crying seems horrible, and then kind of nice."

Morim said "That's because of the endorphins. My brain takes pity on me eventually."

Garrus said "Tali, I'm glad you’re here. Beyond the fact that your life expectancy is shorter.”

Tali said “If Shepard hadn’t come to Haestrom, I’d have no life expectancy.”

Morim said “I knew you could get into trouble all on your own. C’mon, let’s go get a drink.”

They headed over to Eternity and settled in with some drinks. Morim said “Tali. Welcome to “Who is Going To Screw Us Over First” our three-person production. Yes, there are other cast members, but their back stories are troublesome if not insomnia-inducing.”

Tali nodded solemnly “What can I do? Do you need me to watch anybody, set surveillance?”

Morim considered “Normally I’d say yes, but this isn’t normally. I assume that I’m the main target for surveillance and Garrus and now you are secondary in priority. I don’t want to appear to be doing anything underhanded. I trust the majority of the crew to get the job done, but my main concern is the Illusive Man and we can’t bug his office. If the three of us here know enough to keep strategy off the Normandy, I’m assuming that two years of Cerberus planning a covert operation on a huge ship, they’ll outstrip my little ability to keep up with them. Surveillance would be high risk, low probability of success, which normally would be my thing, but in this case it would put you or Garrus directly in the way of provoking an “accident” if you found anything, before you could tell me. I’d prefer if you spent your time on upgrade ideas, because that has a clearer payoff than sorting through hours of Jacob snoring and scratching his ass.”

Tali said “Is Jacob a concern?”

Morim shrugged “Everyone is a concern if they’re not sitting at this table. Well, maybe not Dr. Chakwas. Maybe not Joker. They’re both doing their intended jobs and I am not paranoid enough to think that Karin or Jeff have been subverted in any way. I just…think they’re window dressing. I think they were given an opportunity to do what they are good at and they’re doing it. Same goes for everyone at this table.”

Garrus said “I’ve done what I can to analyze the technical aspects of the ship, but most of it is locked down by EDI and protocol, and I can’t access it.”

Morim said “I doubt they’d have recommended that I recruit you if you could crack their security. Counterproductive. What I’m concerned about mostly is that Cerberus on the whole, or the Illusive Man, or key members of the crew are indoctrinated. That’s the most insidious problem. And we have no way of knowing, except to watch to see if the guy starts to suddenly sprout “upgrades” like Saren. That is unlikely.”

Tali said “Okay, I’ll do what I can. Anybody I should worry about?”

Garrus said “Shepard’s brought me with her on every trip so far. I really haven’t seen anything suspicious beyond being an asshole or being generally homicidal, but that’s not a drawback here.”

Tali said “Gabby and Kenneth are just doing their jobs. I don’t think they’re doing anything except what they say they are doing.”

Morim said “I’d agree with you. I started with Miranda and Jacob, and so I’m most suspicious of them. That suspicion is purely situational, but I think I can rely on Miranda to keep me alive as that has been her pride and joy, and I do think Jacob is just doing a job he believes in.”

Garrus said “Zaeed got off to a rocky start, but he’s under the homicidal umbrella along with Jack.”

Morim said “Zaeed is good at what he does. Jack needs some tempering, but she’s just one of my favorite people. I like her.”

Tali said “She’s a bit like Wrex.”

Morim laughed and then said “Kasumi is steady handed and I think she’ll see this through. Samara is devoted to my cause.”

Garrus said “Though she did say she’d have to kill you later if you make her do the wrong things.”

Morim said “Hah, but we both have to be alive for that to happen, and I also have to release her from my service or something. Either way, she’s in for the big mission. I think she can be trusted to do that.”

Garrus said “Thane is probably my best pick for teamwork, Tali, beside you, who would be my first.”

Tali said “Thank you. Good to know I’m appreciated.”

Morim said “You are SO appreciated. Garrus and I have been huddled in a corner whispering alone, it’s nice to widen the circle.”

Garrus said “Mordin is crazy, but he’s crazy in a dedicated way that kept us from getting our asses paralyzed by the swarmers, so I like him.”

Morim said “Grunt…well…he’s a problem. He’s going slowly rabid down there. He doesn’t even know what his problem is. But his problem has nothing to do with Reapers or indoctrination…I hope. It’s probably going to take a trip to Tuchanka. Everybody has needed something done to wrap up the worldly travails, and even Garrus got a deal. No offense, Garrus.”

Garrus said “None taken. My crazy is stowed away.”

Tali laughed “So far I’ve got nothing I need except another drink.”

Morim said “Well, everybody has gotten a free pass to some sort of crazy, so feel free if your number comes up. Once again, you two are the best friends I could have ever hoped or dreamed to have. I’m sorry that means I might get you killed. I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening.”

Tali took her hand “We’ll get it done. She’s a beautiful ship and I have some ideas, we’ll get her ready for the dance.”

Morim laughed “As long as I don’t have to do any actual dancing.”

Garrus said “Could get ugly.”

Tali said “Could get funny.”

Morim said “Could get not gonna happen.”


	8. Chapter 8

Shepard

Morim made her rounds on the Normandy. She was checking in with people. Tensions being what they were and lives being potentially short, she was not going to allow morale to tank any further than it had already tanked. Yes, she was ex-dead. Yes, some folks still had a few kilotons of baggage that needed to be worked out. Skyllian 5 was going to happen. She wondered if she could requisition a visor and a cigar, then discarded the idea. The symbolism would be lost on most, and she had no idea if Tali's filters could handle tobacco. 

It took very little more than an invitation from her to most. Samara and Thane were out, which she had expected. She’d asked them to join the game, but with neutral expectation and little enthusiasm, to give them the opportunity to decline. Morim valued meditation, though her mantra was often ‘don't shoot them, don't shoot them’ instead of anything else more profound. Jack was in. She'd said "Fuck yeah. I want an expense account. I demand an expense account. Cash me up baby and let me go." Shepard promised to cash her up, and on that inspiration handed out 1000 credits to all players, putting the tab on Cerberus. Call it petty cash. Miranda was out because…Miranda. Shepard couldn't bring herself to invite her. They were better able to work together, and she was warming up to Miranda, but Jack would never show if Miranda was there. She’d explained to Miranda that it was an issue of morale and that she’d be happy to do Miranda a favor if she accepted not being invited to play. Miranda had jumped at the opportunity to do a full follow up body scan and questionnaire regarding her upgrades. Yay. Shepard agreed. Shepard had invited Jacob but didn't expect him to attend, and she was right. The reunion with his father was too close in his memory, and she accepted his terse refusal with sympathy. She didn’t ask if Jacob wanted to talk about it beyond the assurance that he would be fine. That was his way. She got along well with Jacob. Good man. Good man with no sense of humor. She had a hard time drawing him into conversation, and he didn’t want to be in conversation. He reminded her of “The Importance of Being Earnest.” She bet Jacob wouldn’t find that play all that funny. That was a shame, but not a problem.

Tonight the house wasn't going to win. Cerberus would pay up for a night of petty revenge and potential debauchery. She'd tried to convince Kasumi, but she had the feeling Kasumi was just going to be cloaked and checking out the game mechanics, not playing. Grunt couldn't hold human cards without a frustrating effort, but he'd agreed to attend if there was food as an observer. She agreed a not frustrated Grunt was a good idea. She could always count on Kenneth and Gabby for Skyllian 5, and Kelly had needed no enticement, happy to be up to her elbows in socialization and anthropology. Joker was in. Tali was in. Mordin was in. To her surprise, Zaeed was in, with an economy of words but a plethora of creative swears and threats of gambling massacres based on past conquests.

She gave Garrus the rundown on attendees and expectation. He amiably agreed to the game and even knew the rules and had played before. He said something about humans being good at passing along their bad habits and promised to be there.

The rest was just setting up a time when everyone was off duty. EDI was solemnly asked to promise to alert them if they were going to die horribly or pass through a sun. EDI redefined parameters to more reasonable concerns and assured them she could keep them traveling along a straight line plotted in advance by Jeff, who wouldn't leave without insulting EDI one more time by implying she couldn't hold the ship up without him. She promised to inform them if Gabby, Kenneth or Tali were needed, but assured them with an edge of disdain that she could do all four jobs simultaneously without the apparent need to waste time and encourage a chemical decline in mental function.

"You tell us, EDI!" Morim yelled while setting up the table.

"I did tell you, Commander." EDI said. 

Joker laughed and said "She's too easy."

Shepard said "She's got to learn to more subtly fuck with people. Well, maybe she is and she's just too subtle for us to catch on yet."

Joker looked troubled. "Shit. You're right. If we end this game in the middle of a sun, I'm blaming you."

A few tables were pulled together in the Port Observation Deck, color coded bowls and carafes of drinks from mild to fuck-you-up-and-down were on the table and the bar.

Shepard was determined to lose to someone tonight, but hadn't decided who yet. Probably not Zaeed. She wouldn't stop hearing about it for…well, ever. Same with Jack. Maybe she'd taken enough money off Kenneth already, time to let him win. Maybe Gabby. Winning at Skyllian 5 wasn't hard, but it was her kind of challenge to play the table and get someone else to win, regardless of their skill level. Helped to be loud and apparently drunk. People's guards went down. It was a win-win for her, which she liked better than win-lose. 

Hands were dealt, trash talking began, storytelling was loosening people up. Garrus was telling a part of what she recognized as the trip with Thane to the Citadel, trying to reach Kolyat. It was a recent mission and most didn't know a damned thing about it. He let none of the specifics slip about Thane or Kolyat, and mostly just played up Shepard's involvement.

Garrus said "So there's this guy, Vermin or something, and he's deciding not to talk. Now, Shepard needs him to talk, so she grabs the guy by the throat and he cracks his head on the neon."

Shepard blandly watches her cards, watches the table, a small smile on her face. He wasn't even going to give away the name Mouse. 

Garrus then says "So she talks to the guy quietly and I couldn’t have made it out unless I'd had Turian ears."

Shepard scoffed "Cheater."

Garrus nodded "Every time. Anyway. She says 'Have you ever seen an Adept reave?' and the kid's eyes bulge out farther than they had before. Then she follows up with 'I've figured out how to reave someone so they are just about to pass out. Hurts like hell, but I can tell just how much juice they have left. People start to heal up pretty quickly. But you're right on the edge of blacking out in the worst pain you've felt, your cells screaming for oxygen and your nerves longing for me to kill you and get it over with.'"

Mordin, Grunt and Zaeed laughed. Jack threw popcorn at her. Shepard tried to catch it in her mouth and missed on purpose. "Classic," Jack drawled. "Reflexes like glaciers on this one." Shepard looked appropriately hurt. Gabby and Kenneth look stuck between sick and fascinated. Shepard tries to decide if her squad mates thought she'd actually torture a kid or if Gabby and Kenneth thought she wouldn't. Joker was listening but not responding. He was always hard to read, and he was better at hiding his cards than most gave him credit. Let 'em wonder.

Then Garrus said "I have rarely seen someone give out information faster."

Shepard said "You should have seen the interrogation in the precinct. Sale of testicles to a random Krogan was discussed."

Grunt cheered. "I will bid the highest! But simply as a trophy, as I have no need for six."

Garrus shook his head and tsked "You might be surprised how often the subject of Krogan testicles comes up with Shepard."

Garrus figured out her game faster than she'd have hoped, and she tried to throw him off, but he remained unthrown. Then he joined her in helping Kenneth win and she was impressed, again, with his intuition. Then they both had to fend off Zaeed and Jack, who were edging toward suspicion of Kenneth cheating, but who were also getting more drunk and having fun sniping at each other. Kasumi noticed, but she was studying, sober, and could see everybody's hands. She only whispered once in Shepard's ear "Interesting strategy" and then was gone again. Kenneth crowed his good luck and bantered with Gabby and Joker. Mordin seemed more interested in the manufacturing process of cards and the history of the game than in winning. Tali was flirting with Garrus. Shepard smiled. She didn't think Tali knew she was doing it. Tali was adorable and Garrus was charming. Shepard thought of Tali as a sister. A sister who lost out. A pang of sadness for Tali crossed her internal landscape for a moment, until she realized Tali could still get with Kal'Reegar if she stepped up her flirting game. There was no place in Shepard's heart for jealousy. This was Garrus. He was unfailingly polite and self deprecating, defusing invitations with variations of "yes, I know I'm devastatingly attractive" and "aw shucks" and humor. The only things he'd ever waxed romantic over other than her were his rifles.

Kelly was making the rounds, asking people to tell stories about themselves, and Garrus, Tali and Shepard listened, laughing and encouraging, to not exclude them. Too many stories of “the old days” got into laughing rants about her driving in the Mako. She deserved it, she knew, but let’s tell some non-Shepard stories, she fully agreed. She took the opportunity to soak in the personalities of her crew. Kenneth got a thicker accent when he drank and Jack was asking him what the fuck he was saying more often than not. Zaeed claimed he could translate drunken Scots to normal fucking human being and his translations interspersed between Kenneth’s overblown delivery were in the realm of “And then I fucking exploded in my sporran” and the hybrid story was unrepeatable and unforgettable.

Jack was asking Garrus about Turian sex. “Vakarian, how the hell, really, be straight with me. How does a woman get in your pants?”

Garrus was saying "Nobody's getting in unless I want them to."

Jack said “That is some weird shit right there.”

Garrus nodded "It's locked up tight. Even for me, I have to get drunk and talk dirty to even get my attention."

Tali was distracted, apparently, because she got flustered, drank from the wrong carafe and fell over on the table. 

Garrus rushed over and tried to check her pulse while Shepard watched her chest to make sure she was breathing. “Fucking suit.” He said and lifted her into his arms to carry her to the Med Bay.

Shepard said “This is not her first time. She’ll be fine. She’s still breathing.” She hurried out after Garrus.

Jack threw her cards down on floor since the table had been knocked over entirely. “Mommy and Daddy have left the building. Who is up for Strip Skyllian?”

All Shepard heard was that Zaeed was in and he was encouraging Kelly to do the same when the door closed behind her.

She actually had no idea if Tali was going to be fine or not and she had never done this before, but why freak everyone out?

After some checking of filters and vitals by apparent sorcery, Dr. Chakwas reassured them that she was going to be fine and asked them both to stop hovering.

Shepard complained. “I don’t hover. I’m not tall enough to hover.” She pointed accusingly at Garrus “Look at him! He’s looming. He looms. He should go, I should stay.”

Garrus retorted “Oh, low blow, but I suppose you can’t reach that high.”

Chakwas steered them both out. Shepard ran back in and planted a kiss on Tali’s visor, leaving a distinct print of her shade of lipstick against the polymer holding back purple fog. “There, now when she wakes up she’ll know I love her best.” and then scooted out fast.

Turns out both Garrus and Shepard were fake drinking and fully sober, but why waste all that effort? Let everyone think they were going to sleep it off. Morim was going to just walk Garrus to the Battery and drop him off, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her in, closed the door behind them, and walked with her to the back of the Battery. If neither of them were in their accustomed places, they might escape detection. Morale was up if Jack didn’t kill anybody, or maybe even if she did. Tali would be fine. Neither of them were going to mention being not-drunk or angling the game to let Kenneth win because who does that after they both knew anyway and it could be their secret, held gently between them.

Dim red lights cast shadows. Their backs were against the far wall from the door, silence and peace hung between them like garlands. She felt safe. She was sure they were bugged at least 5 ways she’d never find and that she couldn’t trust 84% of her crew or the Illusive Man, but it’s not as though she was going to walk off the Normandy. Trust could be trumped by shared self interest. She wouldn’t let fear keep her from the pleasure of his company or talking to him. She reached over to touch his talon and he started at the contact, but only a little. 

She smirked and said “Do I make you jumpy?”

He laughed and said “Jumpy isn’t the right word.”

She nudged him with her elbow “What is the right word?”

He said succinctly “Terrified.”

She sighed “Way to make it weird, Vakarian.”

He matched her tone “Biology makes it weird, Shepard.”

She looked at his hand. “Okay, then. Let’s break down the terrifying biology in the room.” She tapped one of his talons. “This is scary. This looks like I need stocks of Medigel.” She looked at his face. “Don’t…hell. Has Mordin talked to you too?”

Garrus covered his face with a hand. “He actually used the word ‘rupture’”

She gasped “Crap. You or me?”

Garrus tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “You.”

She pouted. “I really don’t want to rupture.”

Garrus took a breath and said “If I ask you nicely not to rupture…do you think…” 

She said fervently “I will do my best.”

He said with relief “I’d really appreciate it.”

She continued “Anyway, back to the…talons. I like them, so far, but…”

Then he bared his teeth “And then there are these.”

Her eyes grew wider “That was fucking terrifying.”

He closed his mouth with a dramatic snap. “Told you.”

She shook her head and said “I will not be deterred, there has got to be a way.”

Garrus said heavily “Yup, I kill you through puncture, rupture or chemical…sloughing. That was another word.”

Shepard laughed “That is graphic. Do you think Mordin is fucking with us as only a Salarian can?”

Garrus sighed, his voice lit with humor and grudging appreciation. “I hope so for the comedy, but I don’t want to have to kill him.”

She said “We can’t let him win. We need more empirical evidence.” She held his hand. “Evidence. Claw.”

He sighed and said “There is actually some good news there.” He moved his hand like a magician, and pressed at one claw with the other hand, it receded into his finger.

She gasped “Get the fuck out of here. That is so cool. I want to try.”

He laughed and pulled his hand back like the magician guarding his secrets. “No.”

She grabbed his hand and traced the spot where his claw was, it had receded into a fold in the skin and side plates of his hand had closed over it, protecting the groove. She ran her fingertip lightly over the now padded tip of his finger. “That is ever loving cool. That is some amazing evolution there, Turian. I want one. I want five.”

He reached out his sheathed finger and pulled a lock of her red hair forward. “Hair is so strange.” He twisted a red curl it around his finger and then pulled it off again, repeating the gesture. “How does hair work? I’m curious.” He pulled it out to its length and then it sprang back into a curl. “Crap. Does that hurt?”

She laughed. “No. Well, it can. It doesn’t have any nerves except at the base. You can…” she snapped one piece of hair apart at its middle and let it flutter into his palm. Then she pulled one out of her head a wince appropriate to the sting. “That bulb on the end there was attached to a nerve, so it hurts, but only like a brief pinprick.”

“Will it grow back?” He asked.

“Yes.” She said.

“Freak-y.” He said lightly. 

She smiled “This is good. We can do this. Start with hair and retractable things…”

He cleared his throat.

She raised a brow. “No way, really?”

He nodded. “Evolution likes efficiency of design.”

She whistled low. “Handy.”

They both knew she'd been covered in his blood very recently and splattered with it enough times in the past for any severe allergy to likely be ruled out.

She continued. “There’s anaphylactic shock potentially. We can test for that. Med Bay’s right there. We know Dr. Chakwas is in.”

He said “I thought we decided to wait.”

She nudged him again “YOU decided to wait. Something about not disrupting the crew. This crew is disrupted. I can’t keep them from being disrupted. And now I’m thinking that’s a bad plan because what if I…”

He held up a hand “Don’t say it…”

She said loudly “RUPTURE.”

He dropped his hand. “You said it.”

She leaned on his shoulder. “I need to borrow some mucus.”

He started to laugh. “You’re…so romantic….”

She held out her hand “Spit in my palm, if it starts to sizzle, I run.”

He shook his head “No deal.”

She raised her voice “C’mon, Vakarian. I am badass. I am a biotic. I regenerate like crazy and Cerberus put so much crap into me that my spine lights up like a Christmas tree on a med scanner. There has got to be an upside to two years of death and being reconstructed. I am not leaving until my curiosity is assuaged.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He stood up suddenly and offered her a hand “All right, Shepard, let’s give it a try.”

She deadpanned “Look, about spitting on me…”

He pulled her up lightly to her feet and then looked down at her. He held up one finger and then stepped to the side, brought back a box. “For my neck strain” he explained briefly and gestured for her to stand on it.

She said “You’re kidding. You open with another short joke?” She stepped up on it. “This is silly.”

His voice dripped smirk. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you know I have no problems throwing back the abuse you fling around.”

She quirked a smile. “Now who’s romantic?”

His mandibles twitched and his voice was soft and languid. “Shepard. Morim. Shut the fuck up.”

She subsided, laughter in her eyes but silent. He knew her tongue on his skin was wonderful, so he’d test his on her skin. It would be the first step in seeing if burning for him was literal or metaphoric. He brought sheathed fingertips to brush at the angles of her face, starting with tracing her cheekbones and then the arches of her brows, his eyes intent and focused. Despite her professed bravado and his professed terror, they measured shared intent in the eyes of the other, coming up even in caution and anticipation. He knew she would bear an unacceptable amount of pain for him, and he was as determined as she was to take it to not let her come to any harm.

He decided they would figure it out because they had to. Just as they jumped through a conduit together. Just as they were planning to go through the relay. Because they had to. Because things were the way they were. He had considered had to. He had considered that for her many times. The new truth was that she had expressed wanting him. The space he'd held open and empty shimmered with possibilities. The blank page he'd left clean because if she would not write on it, nobody else would, stirred with purpose. Want didn't exist without her. Actions weren't worth taking without her. 

There was a very Turian way of doing things that thrummed through his blood and he said formally “Tell me yes or tell me no, Morim.” Then he said softly in a concession to their shared experience “I move on your signal.” He gripped her neck with both hands, lifting her face to his, possessiveness and intent in his eyes. Civilization faded from his face and then hers in response. She wasn’t afraid of him. 

She said “Yes.”

She said yes. The word set him on fire. His eyes traveled, recording the moment, her face, her voice. He sought her scent, the unaccustomed warmth of her body. He buried one hand in her hair, testing the feel of it, the tangle of it, and her head moved with the tightening of his hand. A growl with the subharmonic purr grew in his chest and it set off delicate trembles in her. He knew a few things. That response was good. The second thing was that they both had too many clothes on. The third was that unless she stopped him, he wanted more than his tongue on her skin. He knew not to slam her against the wall because her spine was delicate, but her clothes were fair game. 

The growl in his chest roughened fractionally and he slid an unsheathed talon along her jaw line, then traced his tongue along after it, breathing her in, tasting her, feeling her pulse beat leap. He drew that claw down along the fabric of her jacket and sliced it off her body, careful not to slice her skin. He would be controlled. She yanked the fabric off her shoulders and tossed it aside. She had no claws of her own, so he lent her his, hooking a claw through his shirt, and then guiding her hand on top to apply force to slice that fabric as well. She was more careful with his shirt and didn't yank, didn't snag it on the bone ridges and plates of his arms. She was gentle and solemn, running light warm fingertips over revealed plates and skin, nails along the edge he had shown her, pheromones blooming, her breath catching. He had a sternum blade that was formidable and ran the length of his chest. She ran a fingertip along the base of it and her thumb along the edge. It wasn't sharp enough to cut, but it was the reason why he couldn't simply pull her to him as he was. It was ornamental, and he showed her with his hands over hers how to move the blade, the plate shifting and then sliding behind and to both sides, flattening. Watching her, he saw she was fascinated, but not surprised, her fingers gliding along the edges of his plates, heat from her fingertips penetrating into the exposed skin where the plates shifted under her touch.

He almost smiled, but he realized, of course she knew how his body worked. She wanted him to show it to her anyway, make it new, make it real, make it theirs.

Another familiar jolt of admiration for her joined the possessive thrill in his blood, and he dipped his head to her collarbone, feeling the texture of her skin and breathing in the stronger scent of her, exposed skin giving off heat waves, hot against his tongue. He turned his head until his hooked mandible and the side of his face was flat against the skin under her collarbone, listening to the sound of her breathe and the pumping of her heart. He knew her body well after the weeks of caring for her, but she’d been delicate, lifeless and his only concern was to keep her comfortable, keep her clean, keep her out of pain. He’d felt no sexual attraction to her, only fear for her survival and then admiration for her resilience. Now her skin was vibrant, red streaks blooming and fading under the testing of his finger and the edge of his mandible. She was alive, awake, unharmed, his. He could draw on her, write on her and her blood rushed up to meet his fingers. He extended the claw of a talon and pressed the curve of the edge into the curve of the outer rim of her nipple, gentle and precise, watching her skin give under the pressure but not break. She made oddly flat, unified, human sounds, new ones that almost sounded like she was in unguarded pain. Prey sounds. Willing prey sounds.

Spirits, everything was on her skin, in her voice, in the fingertips that traced the length of his shoulder ridges. He caged a breast with his claws out, gently rotating the rough skin of his palm and pressing in a twist, his claws drawing quickly fading red lines. He looked up at her face, her eyes hooded, lids down and fluttering, sweat forming on her skin in glistening beads. The skin in the center of her nipple rose up to press against his palm. A visceral growl of affirmation reverberated through his chest and throat. He'd always admired cold and hard, and she had that. A new fascination for the possibilities of hot and soft, of always being able to read her, of always being able to give her what she needed gripped him and did not let go. His hands fell to her hips, one finger from each hand meeting in her navel and pressing in, testing again, then two unsheathed claws pulled down on either side of her pants, shredding them off of her and discarding the fabric pieces into the shadows, his pants followed quickly.

He ran his hands along her body slowly, watching her face as his hands found her shoulders, down to her hands, tracing the shape of her hand and fingertips. He put one hand on her waist and then walked to her side, to her back, his hand dragging around, the tips of his claws extended to leave two fine red streaks. He ran the sides of his face over her shoulders, her shoulder blades, tracing his tongue over the shadows made by her contours. He followed the line with his hands and his mouth along the channel of her spine, noticing that her hands were clenching into fists. She was so still, allowing him to touch her wherever he wanted to, for as long as he wanted. No demands from her was as stark of a contrast to her normal state of mind as the color and texture of his hands against her skin. Moments of seeing her when he’d wanted to reach out to her flashed through his mind and he touched her in places he’d wanted to before. The curve of her ear, the arch of her neck, the shadow under her jaw. He remembered the hollow of her throat, turned her to face him and bent his head to lick at her there. He rested his hands on her hips and she swayed until he thought she would lose her balance. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and his grip on her hips tightened. He remembered her ass in that dress and he cupped her in his palms. If she'd touched him everywhere he'd barely be able to feel it in some places. She felt everything. There was nowhere he could put his hands where she wouldn't respond to him.

He placed one hand flat along the small of her back to support her and slid his forearm under her ass, lifting her, kicking the box away with a sound and a motion that made her gasp. He slid the side of his face along the paler skin on the inside of her thigh. He leaned her back further until most of her weight was supported on his palm and she wasn't struggling for balance. Nudging her thighs open wider he slid his teeth, making red streaks on her inner thigh and biting just hard enough to mark her in a way that wouldn't fade in minutes, four precise punctures from his upper and lower jaw. She made a beautiful sound of welcoming the pain and his heart started pounding harder. He gently nuzzled her open with his mouth and tested the feel of her, finding her clit under his tongue, learning the sounds she made and the trembles, the twist of her. Her back tensed and arched on his palm, spasm and sound reverberating through her. She spread her fingers along his crest, smoothing her fingers along the suture lines of it, digging in her nails. 

Turians didn’t have orgasms, and this to him seemed entirely improbable in the vids he’d watched. Un-bonded Turians did not give like this, were not vulnerable like this. He’d never been bonded before either, and although he’d known bonding was powerful, this was overwhelming, simultaneously wanting to guard her with his life and prove that she belonged to him. Cerebral affection and devotion gave way to lust. He savored holding her helpless, everything she was suspended on the strength of his arm and his hand, the literal expression of having her back. His claws unfurled on the sides of her spine, just enough to add fresh blood to the scent in the air. The fear of hurting her dissolved under the need to hear those sounds from her mouth, make those thrashes in her limbs, and his tongue drove at her until she gave them and he learned her range, playing with her, toying with her, teasing and then demanding. His blood was singing with “MINE” as the beat. 

She was whimpering now, little hitches of distress in her voice and he gentled, learning how to make her come, how to give her time between, alternating from gentle to insistent. She was drenched and slippery and he wanted to touch her with his hands, test her heat. He tried to set her on her feet but she couldn’t stand. Her knees gave, another sign of weakness that set his heart pounding. He discarded the idea of letting her lie on the floor or against a wall as not enough contact between their bodies, and he turned her, pulled her back against him, her ass and back pressed against him, his cock digging into the small of her back, wet with sweat and blood. His hands were at her throat, searching the pulse point there, his teeth against her shoulder. He arched his back to lift her off the floor and reposition her with her legs open wider, then took her hand in his, dragging it over the pheromone-rich ridge of his shoulder, marking her with her own hand, drawing a line down her sternum and stomach, around her navel, then closing her hand in a fist with two of his fingers, the other finger sliding into her, supporting her as her feet tried to find balance, leaning her back against him, testing the depth of her with a growl at her ear, building to a snarl as her body slid along his, his cock on the groove of her spine. Her thighs began to tremble harder, tense, out of her control. She was soft, giving under his hands, molded under his hands. He realized she wouldn’t be able to claim him as a Turian woman would, he’d drained the strength from her. Entirely different instincts than those he was accustomed to in sex were racing his expectations and overwhelming them. Hot not cold. Soft not hard. Permission and possession. The leap from Shepard to his Venri gave him vertigo, the distance she’d traveled in a such a short time under his hands. Her voice, the swirl of her hair as her head was pressed against his chest, her hands on him, weak and clinging, struggling to find purchase. Just as he had bonded to her alone, he would have to help her claim him. She was as mindless as when her life almost left her, when she relied on the sound of his voice to bring her back to the living. 

He withdrew his finger, and she whimpered at the loss, he kissed the corner of her neck where he breathed in the scent of them together, turned her around, his cock throbbing against her stomach, and her mouth turned to kiss all of him that she could reach, his chest plates, her tongue gliding along the edges. He put her arms around his neck and lifted her with his hands on her ass, opening her legs against the edges of his waist, and then slid her body down his stomach, angling her hips down slowly to meet his cock, plates spread aside. He was blunt tipped with a roughly square shape, ridged on four sides with thick ribbed skin, coated with gel. He lowered her with exquisite care, searching her face, watching her bite her lip and moan. She was tiny, but she gave around him with a wet heat and a pulsing throb.

Reverie. This is what he had to give her. Transformation from who he was to who he chose to be, who he would be for her. She clenched her knees and tried to lift herself, but he held her hips still with his hands, his body adjusting to her heat, her needs. His body had transformed for her over two years, remembering her, aching for her, wanting to be for her. He’d had her under his hands, enough to know her scent, her body’s shape, the feel of her hair between his fingers. Newly created endorphins spilled pure pleasure into his bloodstream, cleansing and bright, his cock throbbing and reaching and pulsing, obeying her. Strong, fast, powerful. He belonged to her and she wanted him. She whimpered in prey-ringing sounds, clenching around him and pulling from him, hungry. She was keening, trembling and mindless, beautiful. 

Mine.

He supported her with one arm, lifted her chin from his chest with his other hand. Her eyes opened and he held her gaze with his. 

Reverie.

Ours.

The clenching of her body washed over him, fast, hot, hungry. His own legs began to tremble. She was taking all of him at once, not slow as he was accustomed, a slick rush, so fast he felt he would black out. Her eyes started to glaze. Her muscles were spent, unaccustomed, and he pulled himself from her, cradling her in his arms, brushing his fingers along her skin and whispering to her to keep her connected, keep her from oversensitive nerves pushing her into pain, her muscles rippling as if she had been struck by lightning.

He sat down on trembling limbs, on the floor with his back to the wall, holding her in his lap, whispering to her. “Morim, Venri, I love you.” and rocking her in his arms.

She came slowly to herself, he felt her humming in his blood and imagined, hoped, that she felt the same; more than herself, better than just herself, bolstered and strengthened, fierce and focused.

She said quietly “Venri…I remember you calling me that. What does it mean?”

His voice was soft “It means weak and silly human.”

She coughed a little laugh. “It all makes sense now.”

He pressed his mouth to her temple and said “It means ‘chosen purpose.’ It means beloved. It means reason to live. It means mate. It means I am devoted to you.”

Her voice was small. “It can’t mean all that.”

His voice was sure. “It does when I say it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Time passed but they were careless of it, awash in Reverie. They clung to each other in the dark with whispered endearments and teasing.

Eventually the spell was interrupted by EDI’s voice. “Commander, there are several messages requiring your attention.”

Shepard answered “Of course there are. I’ll attend to them soon, thank you EDI.”

EDI continued. "I also noticed from thermal imaging that you were getting cold, so I raised the temperature locally."

"Thanks EDI." Shepard said wearily.

EDI’s voice continued "There are clothes outside the door of the Battery. I noticed you had none remaining that were wearable. Miss Chambers offered to bring you some from your cabin."

"Thanks EDI." Garrus offered.

There was a pause and then EDI said with a lilt and overstated curiosity "Jeff is supervising a settling of debts on the pool regarding when the two of you would sleep together. I did not see sleeping."

"Stop fucking with us, EDI." Shepard laughed.

"Yes, Commander." There was a trace of smug.

Shepard smiled. "I win the pool. Chambers made the bet for me."

Garrus sighed "I bet on right before the mission. I trusted you. Mordin's going to appear to take a hit." He smiled. "I've definitely changed my mind."

Morim said "About what?"

Garrus replied "I now have a human fetish. I want one. I want five."

She smiled "Hey, whatever makes you happy."

He gasped. "That was a joke. You pick now to take me seriously?"

She shrugged "I'm in a giving mood."

He growled "I'm not. You’re not either. There will be no giving to five, only one." He rubbed the side of his face and said in a cranky voice "I think you bent my mandible. You're not supposed to hold onto them like that."

She answered with a snort "Oh, nonsense. They make perfect handles."


	9. Chapter 9

Meanwhile, in an Arena

Grunt: That is magnificent!

Shepard: Ah, fuck. Thresher maw. And I was really getting used to not seeing them.

Garrus: Grunt, quit flexing and threatening the thing and get to cover. 

Grunt: You have fought a thresher maw before?

Shepard: Mostly the Mako fought thresher maws. So…break out the heavy weapons and smoke 'em if you've got 'em.

Garrus: Grunt! Growing to be an adult Krogan means not being dissolved into a little puddle of ex-Krogan acid.

Grunt: I would be a fierce, BIG puddle of Krogan acid!

Shepard: GET TO COVER!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Timeline: Mordin, Old Blood

Shepard had about had it with Tuchanka. It was great to see Wrex and hear stories about killing threshers, but the rest was not so much fun. She was irritable, twitchy and maybe being around Krogan made her adopt some of their manners.

She had finished up getting Grunt through his adolescent crisis at least, and had shaken up the makeup of the leaders of Krogan clans through the wily application of head butting and aggravated assault.

She was trying not to let the ugly landscape, dust and prevalence of flame throwers get to her, but she wasn't really managing. One thing they don't mention about wearing full armor is how hard it is to scratch when you have an itch. She'd been trying to shrug and twist to get her armor to rub against where she needed it, but it often didn't work and it often made it worse. She would really like to strip and rub up against a wall of sandpaper. Could she requisition a wall of sandpaper? Just as an inexplicable trophy? How to phrase the requisition? How much to charge? What grit? She could keep it in Engineering.

Mordin was not helping, and was waving his Omni Tool at her and Garrus, which was not abnormal, but it was distracting. Then he muttered. She usually tried hard to pay attention to his explanations of things, and often had to ask him to pause and explain, or she tried to remember key words and look them up later. Right now she was not interested in vocabulary.

She had also been developing a nasty headache, something she usually didn't get…unless it was from red sand…because of her biotics implants. Sleep didn't shake it, exercise didn't shake it. Maybe she should check with Dr. Chakwas when she got back to the Normandy.

Mordin muttered something about dopamine and she tried to ignore him. They'd find Maelon or Maelon's body and get out of here. She would look up dopamine later.

Speaking of bodies…she headed down the stairs carefully to a human body on the landing. The first human they'd seen. 

Mordin said "Repurposed Krogan hospital. Sturdy. Built to withstand punishment."

Garrus replied "That's unfortunate. Hospitals aren't fun to fight through."

She loved Garrus. So. Much. She always felt better hearing his voice. She played along and said "What is fun to fight through?"

Garrus said "Gardens. Electronics shops. Antique stores, but only if they're classy."

She started to laugh and then had a hard time stopping. Mordin examined the body while she was still giggling. She tried to focus, but was trying to think of something to say to get Garrus to talk again.

Mordin finished his explanation of using humans as genetic control groups, which was nasty, but they were on Tuchanka. What good news were they going to get from tripping over a body?

Mordin searched her face and then ran his Omni Tool over her again.

She grabbed his hand and said "Mordin, stop scanning me. I haven't authorized a release form."

Mordin pulled his hand back, scanned her again, at which she scowled. Unfortunately he was immune to scowling.

Mordin said "Should mention. Dopamine levels low, dopamine receptor sites reduced. Pruritus. Cephalgia. Irritability."

She said "Are you talking about me? I'm not irritable." She said irritably. Okay, that was dumb. 

Garrus said "Shepard, you head butted a Krogan clan leader."

She swiveled her head toward him and retorted "He was an asshole!"

Mordin continued "Clarified. Garrus spoke, you responded. Dopamine levels surge. Out of proportion to verbal stimuli."

She narrowed her eyes "So…I like Garrus. We've established that. Stop fucking with us, Mordin."

Mordin said "Not fucking with us. You. Exhibiting addiction pattern."

Shepard said "I'm what now?"

Garrus started to laugh. She glared at Garrus and he threw up his hands, but didn't stop laughing.

Mordin continued "Turian bonding. Could identify on Garrus, thought he was bonded to other Turian. Bonded to you. Only explanation. Considered drug addiction, but then ruled out based on verbal stimuli."

Morim held very still. Bonding?

Garrus noticed her face, stopped laughing, and distracted Mordin by saying "I'm stimulating. I get that a lot."

She took a deep breath and sighed "There were other words in there. Sef something. Pru something. Are those problems?"

Mordin shook his head "Treatable. Short term issues. Cephalgia is headache. Pruritus is itching."

She narrowed her eyes again. "I can understand Garrus giving me a headache, but not the itching. You itchy, Garrus?"

Garrus said "No. Just concerned about being head butted."

She said "It's not off the table. Mordin, are you saying I'm addicted to sex?"

Mordin shook his head rapidly. "Negative. Sex only one avenue of delivery vector. Addicted to Garrus. Bonded Turian, overproducing pheromones and bonding signals based on species differential and time delay from female response. Voice. Casual contact. Sexual contact. Turian-human studies nonexistent. Would make excellent research. Small subject group, no controls, but still useful data."

Her hands formed into fists and both Mordin and Garrus took one step back.

Mordin said helpfully "Could formulate countermeasure. Possible nasal spray. Fast delivery. Would need sample."

Garrus backed away another step. "No samples. She needs something, she gets it from the source."

Mordin considered "Acceptable solution, but only if properly timed. Your death could adversely affect mission."

Garrus said "I would hope so. I decline to be made irrelevant. There are cardiovascular benefits that a nasal spray can't provide."

She closed her eyes. "We're not having this conversation."

They were mercifully silent.

She thought a moment and then said "Okay. I lied. I have questions. And an apology. Please forgive my irritability. I will attempt to compensate."

Mordin said "Appreciated."

Garrus said "Good luck with that."

She fake-smiled at Garrus "I'm not apologizing to you. Certain…aspects of this, we can discuss later." She turned her attention back to Mordin. "So you're saying if I took Garrus behind that stack of crates and got some cardiovascular benefits, I'd be in better shape."

Mordin said "Temporarily, yes. Dopamine would be compensated for, likely decreased cephalgia. Pruritus a concern for longer term, could be risk of laceration."

She said as if considering risks versus benefits "Definite risk of laceration."

Garrus crossed his arms over his chest and said "Hey. I'm not agreeing to this. He still has his Omni Tool. He wants a study. Plus, I'm not piece of meat, and you've hurt my feelings."

She said conspiratorially "Mordin, my chances of gaining his consent in the current scenario without coercion or weapon use?"

Mordin ran his Omni Tool over Garrus. "Bonded male Turian behavior highly responsive to female needs. Based on past behavior and current state, 64%." 

She smiled "That's about my assessment as well."

Garrus said calmly "You're going to have to say please."

"Unlikely." Mordin said this absently while he was messing with his Omni Tool

She tried not to laugh, and failed. "Thank you, gentlemen, for a lively debate. We have stuff to kill. I have a proposed solution and I've thought of something else that could relieve tension."

Garrus said "Uh oh."

She said "Garrus, please do me the honor of moving into my quarters so we can have a nice long conversation and then properly timed interval sex so I don't have a headache."

Garrus pretended to consider and then said "Okay. For science."

She said "Garrus, you might not be able to help on the next part, but I have a song that Mordin might know."

She turned and started walking forward and stomping to the words "With cat-like tread! Upon our foe we steal!"

Mordin sang along "In silence dread, our cautious way we feel!"

They continued "No sound at all! We never speak a word! A fly's foot fall would be distinctly heard"

Mordin sang "Tarantara. Tarantara."

She sang "So stealthily the pirate creeps, while all the household soundly sleeps."

Garrus said "This is really not all that stealthy."

Shepard said "Sing it with us, Garrus! It's "The Pirates of Penzance!"

Garrus stared at her and shook his head. She turned back to Mordin and after she chanted “1…2…3…4…” they both sang "Come, friends, who plow the sea! Truce to navigation, take another station! Let's vary piracy with a little burglary!"

Garrus said "That's going to draw thresher maws."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

This was not exactly how he'd have liked her to find out he was bonded to her, but as usual, he didn't get much of a vote.

She set a few Krogan on fire, so maybe that helped her work through some stuff.

Probably not.

In the end she let Maelon go and convinced Mordin to keep his research. It made sense because of the Rachni wars and the fact that there was a Krogan memorial. Working with Wrex and Grunt had convinced her that the Krogan were better as potential allies than potential enemies. Working with Wrex and Grunt had made him relieved she'd made that choice.

She excused herself with Mordin, and told him to take his time preparing his data, they'd be back, stay there. He'd already checked out of the conversation and all she got from Mordin in return was a dismissive wave of his hand.

She walked past him and Garrus followed. He'd assumed they'd have this conversation on the Normandy, but it seemed that now was the time.

She backtracked to a side room with a huge door that she dragged into position behind them. She pointed to her Omni Tool and his and they took a few moments to disable them.

She leaned back against the door and looked at him, intent. He leaned back against an opposite wall and said nothing, waiting. She looked down at the floor, motionless for a long moment. She lifted her head, looked at him and said "Was Mordin right? Are you bonded? To me?"

He hesitated, but then nodded and said "Yes." 

Her brows drew together and the muscles in her neck and jaw drew taut. She said "Did it somehow slip your mind to inform me?"

He said "No." 

She said quietly "Would you please explain to me why I had to hear it from Mordin?"

Her voice was stark and he wanted to be closer to her, so he pushed off the wall and walked toward her, and she held out a hand to stop him. He stopped momentarily and she said "No. From there is fine."

He ignored her and kept walking until her hand rested on his armor. He paused a moment and then stepped closer and her arm bent under what wasn't that much pressure at her elbow. Her arm was trembling. He said "You had to hear it from Mordin because of that."

She said "Because of what?"

He said "Because there are truths, and then there are stories."

She said "That makes no sense."

He smiled and said "It makes perfect sense." He took her hand, the one not against his armor in his and said "You have the truth, but I can tell you the story. But first, to demonstrate a truth, try to push me back. Push me away."

She shook her head "That's not the point. I could."

He said "Yes, you could. Do you want to?"

She said quietly, strained "No."

Then he said "And that's the truth. I could have pushed you away as well, but I didn't want to."

She said "I don't even know what that means. I don't want to…"

He said "Don't want to what?"

She shook her head again "I don't…I don't want you to pay a cost I can't pay myself. I'm not a Turian, I can't do anything for you."

He clamped down, hard, on a potential laugh and "Really? You can't do…anything? I seem to remember…"

She smacked the front of his armor "I can lose my mind when you touch me."

He said with warmth "That's a lot of something."

She said "It's not bonding…whatever bonding is. I thought you were bonded when you were on the Normandy before, because…I never saw you interested in someone. You were unreachable."

He said "I told you that a Turian woman has to express interest before a Turian man can respond."

She poked a finger at his chest “I saw squadrons of Turian women express interest. You were hip deep in interest.”

He said quietly “And yet with all that competition, the human woman I wanted never made a move.” 

Her brows drew together and then she said in confusion "You were interested in me then? Why didn’t I know?"

He continued “You had other things on your mind. The media was trying to turn me into your pet or you into a fool. But…you were wearing a dress that made my hands itch to touch you. You were putting lipstick marks on my crest and asking me to spend time with you. So from my point of view, from all the interest you had expressed in me, I was there for the taking. You didn't take."

Her voice was quiet, an edge of bitter in her tone. She said "You deserved…and you deserve…better than what I have to offer. My life expectancy is and always has been…negligible despite my best intentions. I wanted you to have a life, have a family…have…a life expectancy."

He shook his head "I told you that you were unapologetically stupid then and I'll tell you the same now. If those were your reasons then, they don’t apply now. We’re in this together. Turian and human choices move in different ways. Human love is compared to falling, involuntary. To a Turian it seems so messy, so impossible to comprehend.”

Shepard said drily “Humans don’t understand it either.”

Garrus continued “Humans know a little about bonding, but only about its presence, not about how it works. They also know about un-bonded sex, the stress relief I talked about. There was no real harm in letting you think what we had was not bonded, casual. To give you time, to give you choices. To let you decide if you wanted more without feeling pressured that you had to, just because I did. To prevent you feeling exactly how you feel now. Before choosing to bond, Turians can just have physical relationships. That’s most of what humans know of Turian sex, the rest is deeply private. It isn’t written down, unlike all the poetry about love and sex in Human history. A Turian learns from watching their parents or other pair bonds in their life, and to talk about it with someone else is…a betrayal, criminal.”

Shepard sighed “Great, now the Turian bond cops are going to be after us too.”

He chuckled and then continued. “Morim, for a Turian, for me, love isn’t about falling. You didn’t know it, but you were with me through each stage of bonding. Friendship. Respect. Protectiveness. Love. I fit you. Only you. After everything we'd been through, after all our time together, after you preferred my company, treated me as equal if not better than yourself, after you danced for me…I was trying to figure it out. I would have figured it out. I had plans to figure it out. Then you were shot and your life was in my hands. I knew then. I couldn't ask you what you wanted, I made a choice. I couldn't make you responsible for that choice, but I could wait and see if you would make a choice on your own."

Her eyes widened and radiated panic. "You…you bonded to me THEN? THEN? It's been…it's been years? Is that what Mordin meant by delayed response? Oh Gods, Garrus, no. I'm so sorry. No…"

He said "Yes. Don't be sorry. I’m not."

She wrapped her arms around him as far as she could and cried.

He held her and continued "Whether or not you knew it, you were the only one. Everything I was working toward involved a future with you. You were putting holes in walls and I was terrified for you. I couldn’t let you die if I could do something about it, and I couldn’t see myself choosing another woman even if you died, so I made that choice. I realized it then, and I accepted it as truth. Done. Irreversible. I can’t fall out of love with you. I can’t do it a human way. It was also a possible way to get you to trust me. The sound of my voice, the touch of my hands, the way my scent blended with yours. It wasn’t involuntary. It was unpredictable and unexpected. I really still don’t know what it means myself because after that choice, I’m more the effect than the cause.”

Her crying continued and he stroked her hair. The tears slowed down and stopped eventually. She stood there, just breathing, while he held her.

She lifted her head up and said "Wait…that's what bonding does? That is why you smell like Christmas and I'm 5 years old? That is why your voice makes my spine melt? That's why when you touch me…"

He said "Did I smell like Christmas before?"

She narrowed her eyes "I don’t know. I don’t think so. I was busy setting you up with other people. I was in full blown denial." She tilted her head "You drugged me."

He laughed "What?"

She backed away a step, crossed her arms over her chest again and said with conviction, but also with obvious humor "Yes. You drugged me. Preserving my choices like hell. I never had a damned chance. I'm never going to have a damned chance, am I?”

He said to match her tone "Shepard, you never saw yourself while you were unconscious. After you’d been shot I couldn’t keep you from draping yourself over me like a blanket. You were kinda handsy. I’m lucky my body is discreet. You got cranky if I moved you away from me, and if I stopped talking, you whined. Whined. That was before I made any choice at all. By that point I’d say we were both a little too far down that path to go back. You’ll forgive me if I assumed no other man could get anywhere near you and that I had enough time to get you to drape yourself over me while you were conscious. I needed to make sure you weren’t restrained by Alliance regulations and I couldn’t ask you to break them. I knew it was possible for a human woman to fall in and out of love, but you were constant. You showed no interest in anybody but me. My plan would have worked if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself dead. And there's a running theme with you and drugs."

She said "Oh, really? What else don't I know that has all the information I need to make my life make sense?"

He said "Red sand makes you amorous."

Her jaw dropped. "Oh hell. Did I attack Thane?"

He said distinctly "Not. Thane."

She let out a deep breath. "Well. What did Thane witness?"

He said "Uh…well…you liked me. A lot."

A brow raised "Double drug whammy. Holy crap, Garrus, you have a lot to answer for."

He said "I didn't make you take a deep breath and indulge yourself either time. You have loads of free will left."

She said "I'm not so sure. So you finally let me know you might be available because I was a damned sure thing? I call cowardice."

He laughed "You what? No, you don't get to do that."

She said "I do too. And I think my chances were much higher than 64%. You had me thinking they were as low as 14%. You've been skewing my numbers. And Mordin's. Damn, Garrus. How far back does this go?"

He said “You told me I made your nipples hard, I extrapolated from there.”

She said "Because you mentioned porn!"

He said "So I wasn't as subtle as you seem to think I was, and neither were you!"

She tilted her head, paused a moment, and held up one finger. "Okay. I will stipulate that I'm stupid."

He crossed his arms over his chest "Agreed."

She said "I have been obsessed…and dead…quite a bit lately."

He said "I noticed."

She said "Would you accept an apology for being stupid?"

He narrowed his eyes "Maaaaaybe. Are you going to stop being stupid?"

She tsked. "Possibly. On at least one subject. I make no ultimate promises because you have loaded dice and all the answers that might have helped me be not so stupid. By the way…how amorous did I get?"

He said conversationally "You were thorough, but you had limited time and resources. A lot of kissing and attempting to take my armor off. You growled. I'm lucky I didn't crack my head open when you shockwaved me into a more accessible position. I mostly wanted to shove Thane out of the room and let you continue. If I hadn't been worried about brain damage and the fact that you were going for my grenades…"

She pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh, but the laughter was shot through her next question "Would you accept my apology for that?"

He said with warmth "Oh, no. Never apologize for that."

She smiled and said “I suppose you were concerned that sex would kill me."

He acknowledged "I didn't want to have to explain that to anybody."

She said “By the way…why didn't sex kill me?"

He said "Well…this is new, you know. As Mordin pointed out, there isn't much science. Maybe your resurrection involved some regeneration tricks that help with that. Perhaps the delayed reaction of two years gave me the time to adapt to you sufficiently.” He added, sounding smug “Bonding to you required your scent, your skin, your blood. I had all of that." 

She smiled "Well, thank you for that…groundwork, so to speak. And I'm getting headaches because…"

He smiled "Because my groundwork was thorough and it turns out that you need me if you want any hope of thinking clearly. I’m not sorry. It's not all one sided, by the way. Adapting to you isn't under my control, I don't think about it, I just…"

She said "Respond to stimuli."

He smiled. "Yes. That. I've never smelled Christmas, but to me you are Suntkan."

She said "Really? Good to know. So you drugged yourself too."

He said "I should ask you…does it bother you that I have teeth and claws, that you bleed?"

She stopped and thought a moment "No. I…I think I like it. Does it bother you that I don’t?"

He said "No. I know I like it. So now that you know all that you know, do you have any more questions?"

She said "No. I might think of some later but…"

He said "You know where to find me. In your quarters."

She considered "Our quarters. All right. Well. You made your choice, I made mine. Okay."

He said “Okay what?”

She said “Okay, you’re bonded. I can't bond back, but I can promise. I’ve always known I was luckier than I deserved to have you with me. I’m going to accept that undeserved amount of good luck and run like hell with it. I can understand that there were extenuating circumstances. I would have been with you if it was only casual. I would have been with you if you’d wanted other partners. I would have been with you only once. By the time I figured out how much I wanted you, I was too far gone. I’d have taken anything you’d give me gratefully, and counted the cost of missing you later. If you gave yourself to me years ago, I’ll give myself to you and try to make up for lost time. "

He listened as she casually promised forever, and walls and doors opened and disintegrated in his internal landscape. She was in, 100%, and there was no reason to doubt her because that’s who she was. He thought a moment and then said "This means nobody else, Venri, for either of us. Traditionally it involves me having the right to kill anybody that attempts to touch you without your permission, but I can waive that and honor your preferences. I can't promise I won't want to, but I can leave it to your discretion."

She said "Okay. I haven't been interested, nor will I be interested in anybody else. That's easy. Do I get to kill someone that touches you without your permission?"

He said "You've been doing that anyway, so that's easy.” She laughed and lifted her face to his and he said “I’ve been wanting to try something since the red sand. It’s the reason, the main reason I avoided talking to you.”

She said “I embarrassed you that much, huh?”

He took off his gauntlets and tossed them aside, saying “That isn’t the word I’d use. Take off your armor.”

Her brows raised “What?”

He started unfastening the hinges of his gear “Take off your armor. I hear you’re itchy. Imagine how good it would feel to have your back pressed against that wall.”

He smiled as she pretended to think about it, then said “You are always looking out for me” and started working on her own fastenings.

When they were both done he reached forward and tangled her hair in one hand and slid the other hand so his palm was against the back of her neck. He leaned forward to her and pulled her face to the side of his throat, holding her there. He leaned his head to the side as her mouth contacted his skin. A soft growl mixed with his breathing and she moaned against his skin in response, vibrations setting off tremors, his hand tightening in her hair. She spent delicious long minutes with her lips, her teeth, her tongue, that feeling that had haunted him under his hands.

She shifted, sliding her fingers along either side of his neck and then changing her focus to kiss his mouth and he moved his hands to pick her up, wrap her legs around him, and press her against the wall. He stood still, and she laughed against his mouth, saying “Turians don’t kiss like this, do they?” 

He swallowed and said “No, but if you stop I’m going to be upset.”

She slid her tongue under the edge of his upper mouth plate and said “You’ll figure it out.” He followed her lead and slid his tongue into her mouth, tasted her, her mouth opening for him. Her hand slid down the side of his body, generating a shiver as she passed. She reached down between them and spread her hand over his cock. She tried to angle herself down and him up so that he could enter her, and he lifted her ass higher, out of reach. He whispered in her ear “Say please.”

She threw her head back and laughed, her hand gliding along him, and said “What? Fuck off, Vakarian, I am not saying please. I have a headache. And I’m irritable. Be nice to me.”

He moved her down his body until he entered her about an inch, and then stopped. He bent his head to lick along her collarbone. She bounced in frustration and her head fell further back and he moved his mouth to scrape his teeth over where her convulsive swallow rippled in her throat.

She dragged her fingers along the length of him, between her first and second fingers. He moved one arm to keep her braced against the wall and pressed against his chest, and then moved his other hand between them until he found her clit. She was grinding and pressed open, trying to take him inside. He watched her face for a moment, curves and softness and flushed skin. He nuzzled at her throat, breathing her in and then blowing soft breath across her shoulder. He pressed at her gently, slowly, listening to her frustrated whimpers, until her hand lost her rhythm and she was following his, until she fell away from struggling with him even playfully, one hand braced and against his carapace and one hand at the back of his head, pressing his open mouth, his teeth, into the skin of her throat. She began to pant, and he changed the pace of the pressure and speed of his hand along with her, listening to her breathe harder, her tensed neck muscles under his tongue.

When he felt her come, he removed his hand and slid her down and back, engulfed by her, surrounded by her heat. She felt like hunger. He closed his eyes, lost in dizzy need and the rush of contact ringing through his bloodstream. He pressed her closer, surged inside, drinking in her sounds and scent, biting down on her shoulder. He listened to her heartbeat, lost track of time in Reverie pulling at him, and very dimly felt her hands pressing on his shoulders and her voice saying “Please, please Garrus…” and thought ’She said it..’ and growled against her throat again, feeling the trembles in her thighs. She said “Garrus…please…I…” He paid more attention to her voice and then listened to her say “am going to faint…”

Oh crap.

He pulled from her gently, with a pang of loss, noticing that her muscles were twitching again, remembering that her elemental hunger was in a fragile body, lifted her in his arms. She started to shiver and he gathered some of her clothes and tried to keep her warm with them, held her closer.

She came back to herself in a few minutes, smiled and said lightly “Oops.”

He said just as lightly “Sorry.”

She laughed weakly. “Don’t be. Beyond worth it." She trailed her hand over the side of his face and said “We’ll figure it out. I'd happily faint if Mordin weren't likely to knock and find you standing over my unconscious body. We need a safe word."

He said “What’s a safe word?”

She thought a moment “Oh…well, you should know that humans have been good at having unsafe sex for a good long time now and there are enough practices where people get hurt. They like getting hurt sometimes, and they set boundaries. If it goes over those boundaries, people decide on a word ahead of time to say that means ‘Stop’ that isn’t actually ‘Stop’ because it gives people freedom to say 'stop' when they don’t mean it.”

He said “Yeah, why is it that some of your pleasure sounds and your distress sounds are the same?”

She said “Evolution, I imagine. Human through and through.”

He said “I’ll be more careful.”

She said “It shouldn’t be all on you, just because I lose my mind.”

He said “The word you described sounds like an unsafe word, technically.”

She laughed “Okay, let’s pick an unsafe word. Mordin.”

He deadpanned “I don’t want you saying his name during sex, just a forcefully worded request.”

She said “Okay then…uh…”

He said “Have you had to pick one before? Do you have one already?”

She said “Well, it’s an agreement between individuals. We don’t all use the same word. No, I haven’t had to choose one before, usually it’s not an issue. I’m not all that much into pain, I get enough on the job. I’m not afraid of it, though. In this case it wasn’t about pain, and a safe word isn't always about pain, but about boundaries. This was about way too much pleasure. Neat trick.”

He said “So I…ignore you if you say stop?”

She laughed “Well, hm. Actually, no. I didn’t even really want to say stop this time. But I assumed unconsciousness would be bad.”

He said “So I’m confused. You said please, not stop.”

She said “Yeah, but you got it. You stopped. Okay. Let me give you an example. Human interactions are messy, as you noted. Sometimes the courtship behavior is turned into a fetish. A woman or a man can pretend that courtship behavior hasn't happened, that they're back to when they first met, or that they had never met, or that one of them is perhaps a sexy Turian. He could put his hands on her or she could put her hands on him, and then one of them could say ‘No, stop.’ but not mean it, and they could re-enact courtship fantasies, or lack of courtship fantasies, or different partners.”

He said “Why would you do that? Wouldn’t you like if it I put my hands on you? And why would I do that if I thought you wouldn’t like that?”

She said "If I put it in context, let's say I got that gold dress again. Say I acted the same way I did that night, but you knew you could just pick me up and carry me off and if I said 'No, Garrus, stop' you had permission to ignore me."

He said "I'm not saying no. I do have some frustration regarding the ability to ignore you. Can we instead pretend that you've told me you're about to do something insane and as a result I would have to watch you die? That seems more relevant. Then I can ignore you? I could get behind that idea. I'm warming up to this. Turians have no need for it, but you're not Turian. I can adapt. But, see, I'd know the difference. I'd know I couldn't kiss you for an hour and that would stop you from doing what you do. I know you want me, why would I abandon that knowledge even briefly to pretend you don't?"

She said "Turian courtship behavior is much more organized. Humans don't have chemistry to exchange like that. They have bodies that may or may not fit together, pleasures that may or may not align. It's a lot of hit and miss. Then there are gender and preference issues. Say I'm attracted to a guy, but he's interested in men. Say Liara is attracted to me, but I'm interested in men. Say Kaidan is attracted to me, but I'm not attracted to Kaidan, who is a man, and is classically attractive, but I need a different kind of attractive, say something in a Turian shape. Everybody has different, individual and specific needs and it builds frustration. The sort of frustration of expectation that you and I as an example conveniently went through separately while trying to be together. I never really got to the fantasizing stage of setting up a safe word. I knew what I wanted and I went after it and I got it, or I didn't get it, or someone went after me and got me or didn't get me. No matter how attractive you are as a human, you're going to run up against a lot of no, either through having too many people take a run at you and having to say it yourself, or just picking an incompatible person to want. You, as a Turian, have no such issue. Did you ever turn a Turian woman down that asked you for sex?”

He said "No, why would I?"

She nodded "Exactly. For a human there are a lot of reasons why you'd say no or have it said to you. Roleplaying is often about risky behavior or danger, and I get plenty of that on the job. Plus, I find it difficult and counterproductive to discourage behavior I enjoy.”

He said “I’m starting to see why it was impossible to negotiate a relationship with you. Do you want me to do that and you’re not telling me because…I’ve lost track of this concept. Let me start over. You say you didn’t know you were attracted to me. Should I have…put my hands on you? Because you were human?”

She said “That’s a huge question. The…uncomfortable answer is probably yes. But not just because I’m human only, because I’m me. I told you back on the Citadel, when you called me stupid, that I liked sex, but I had fewer opportunities and it would probably be a reporter. That was entirely honest. I used to have what would be probably more a more Turian style of sex. I had good relationships, but I had my job, and that was my focus. I’d form friendships, bonds with people, but we all knew that we would be re-deployed at any time, so although I’m romantic, I’m also deeply pragmatic. I had sex with friends. I had to be friends first. I’d have sex, it was fun, we’d all move on, no attachments other than friendships and ‘Hey, if we’re in the same bunk again someday.’ We'd hang out. I had the good luck to choose people who were lacking in crazy. Great sex, fun sex. Even if we stopped having sex for some reason or another, we'd still be friends. It was special in its own way, intimate, something we all needed, something we could do for each other. Clean.”

She sighed, paused and said “And then…the Skyllian Blitz happened.” She gave a bitter smile. “I became famous. I never wanted that, I really just wanted to be a soldier, do some good. Some of the men I had been involved with died. Some of the rest…and new people I met…well, they couldn’t see me as me. I had a higher rank, I had a lot of medals, I had a legend that I saw in their eyes. I didn’t see me anymore in the way they saw me. I didn’t see that they saw me at all. Kaidan is an example of that, someone who worships me for being a legend and then is disappointed when I’m human. You saw how that worked…well, how that works. I’m pretty good at reading people. Had to be. I grew up on Earth, on the streets, never had a family, but got good at making families of my own. It was simple. Get food, get water, get shelter, maybe get a laugh. Eventually I spent a lot of time in libraries. It was quiet, and all that information just waiting…I learned a lot about history. I was quick, I was smart, and I avoided being used. I had some good friends. Also special in its own way, intimate, something we all needed. Something we could do for each other. Read each other stories. Sing a song. Keep someone warm. Scam a waffle from the restaurant where the chef liked food anthropology and an appreciative audience. I couldn’t always go see a new show or get a new book or some new clothes, but at the library, I could learn all about what was old, what was free, what was so…incredibly cool about being human. Then some of the librarians noticed me. I was their mascot there for a while. There was a lot of horrible stuff on the streets and in the history I read in the library, but there was a lot of good, also, down near where humans were at their basics. Food. Shelter. Love. Not sex. Love. Water. The value of clean water becomes profound. Watch someone give up half of their meal when they’re hungry, give up half of your meal for someone else and see their eyes…there’s a lot of good in people. Yeah, someone might be willing to kill me for that meal, but that was because they were likely starving, driven feral by circumstance. I could forgive the people driven to those extremes. Sometimes I didn’t have the ability to forgive someone, and I’d have to hurt them if I couldn’t get away or make them go away. Even untrained biotics potential is very useful in a survival sense. I wasn’t a pacifist. I did more damage than was done to me, if it was necessary. I was an excellent thief. Just…really good at it, obnoxiously good at it. Good at lying, good at manipulating, good at getting what I wanted and finding out what other people wanted and getting it for them. I joined the military to get off those streets and be a part of history. The military promised to train me on biotics, which I really wanted. I wanted to be one of those people that are in books, that are gone, that are dead, but did something with themselves. I wasn’t interested in being a hero, just being a person. Distinction really fucked that up for me and screwed with my head for a good long while. I had to figure it out again. Now that I had rank, I was with the ambitious, with the self-involved, and it was assumed that I was ambitious and self involved. There was little about generosity, about people at their basic needs. I saw that it was an opportunity to take a spot that might otherwise be occupied by a real asshole, though, and I knew that real leadership wasn’t just individual privilege. I was needed, so I took it and ran with it. The cost was sex. I paid it. I wouldn’t be used, and that’s what it came down to. There was always some level of trophy in someone’s eyes. Sex wasn’t a need anymore, it wasn’t clean. It was a score. There was nobody I wanted to…score…so I just dropped the concept and gave up on the idea. I couldn’t just become cold, though, because that has its own dangers. Then I wouldn’t just be a trophy, but I’d be unattainable and that made people try even harder, it was more of a mess. Someone could assume I was frigid and just hadn't met the right lover. No, I needed to be casual. Let people know I was entirely unavailable, not because I wasn’t interested in sex, but because I had it covered, and they wouldn’t know how. They didn’t need to know how. Let that aura of superiority work for me instead of against me. So no personal need of my own ever made it out into the world. I stuck with the basics. Water. Food. Shelter. Love. I had them and I could get them for others. I loved my teammates, I just didn't…love my teammates. There were regs about it that made it easy for me to keep it all in line. After a while it just became habit, a new normal. Part of my job.”

Garrus said “The Skyllian Blitz was…nine years ago, Venri.”

She said “Yeah, well…two of those years don’t count, do they? You adapted to my conversational style of sex being out in the open as a subject, but hidden as a practice. Ironic, in its way. Elegant. My talent for bullshit finally dumping me on my justifying ass. You were the embodiment of what I had pretended to be, someone who could manage a sex life amid the insanity. Seeing you with all those women at the reception. Oh, that hurt. The only real point in my favor amid all that denial and stupidity was that I really did think you'd have a shot at being happy, that you were happy, and that I could take comfort in the sense that somebody had their shit together, even if it wasn't me. It was still my job, getting people the basics, even ones I couldn't have anymore. So it took a lot of layers of excavating bullshit I'd piled on top of myself to dig out from under. I didn’t know I wanted you for a long time. I never looked at you and put myself in the picture. I knew I respected you, depended on you, dragged you with me everywhere, and that I needed you, loved you, but I didn't know I wanted you because I couldn't get anywhere near that. I can read humans, I couldn’t read you. I just thought you were the coolest thing ever, and entirely out of my reach. I wanted you alive. I wanted you happy. I had no real idea of how Turian relationships happened. So…if you’d put your hands on me then? I wouldn’t have said stop. I see that would have been very un-Turian.”

He said "I told you I wasn't a very good Turian. Never doubt it, Venri, I would have put my hands on you had I known, and I was trying to figure out how to keep you alive so I could put my hands on you later. I'm smart. I would have figured it out."

She smiled "I am…so happy to hear that. Anyway, long story, back to the original question. Safe word. If I say “krantt” in the middle of sex, try to take it easy on me.

He laughed, stood up, put her on her feet and started handing her bits of her armor to put back on. “Noted.”

She said “Is…me fainting…is that going to happen every time? I'm going to start developing performance anxiety.”

He said “I am not an expert. I am hoping that you…that we…get used to each other. We just have to keep at it. Lots of practice. Mordin even said so. If that doesn’t' work, don't worry. Your performance will never be an issue.”

She said “I'm up for that. We’re going to have to become experts. If…I faint…don’t feel bad. If you kill me, though, yeah, that’s bad.”

They made their way back to Mordin, who was still reviewing the data.

She let Mordin know it was time to go, and he reluctantly turned back to them and started to follow them out. Garrus walked behind him and waited. When Mordin lifted his Omni Tool to scan her, he said "Mordin, if that Omni Tool comes anywhere near her, I'm going to break your arm and twist it off."

Morim kept walking but said “I won't stop him.”

Mordin said “Understood.”


	10. Chapter 10

Shepard

Garrus was moving his things in and looking over the room. He was looking at her ship collection.

Oh shit, her ship collection. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

She wanted to lunge across the room or distract him, but it was possible he wouldn’t see it.

Ah crap. He saw it. He picked up his mandible shard. Maybe he’d just put it back down again. 

Nope.

He said “Morim, why is my…face on a shelf in your room?”

She said “Our room.”

He said “Still not the answer to the question.”

She walked over to him and took it out of his hands and then made it fly around in her hands and she made a little engine noise “It’s a shuttle, see? That way all the little Turians can get to where they want to go.”

He was speechless for a moment and she made the shuttle land at other ships and her fingers mimed walking off, disembarking little Turians with little dutiful voices, saying things like “Yes, this ship has many calibrations, I can make a home here” and “Where is the score board, so I may compare my statistics with others?”

He took the piece out of her hand and said with aggravation “I do not sound like that.”

She said “Of course you don’t. You’re not on that shuttle. You’re on the Normandy, see?” She pointed to the Normandy model. “We have our own shuttle. Don’t take their shuttle, that’s mean.”

He repeated “Why…is my…face…on a shelf in your room.”

She said “I made a promise to myself that if anybody noticed, I would shoot them. Don’t make me shoot you, Garrus.”

He said “I’ll risk it. You may not know, but displaying a mandible of a Turian is an old war practice. After subjugating a Turian from another clan, you take their mandible as proof.”

She said “Oh crap. That’s…that sounds like some of human history. Way to go on being as creepy as we managed to be. Wouldn’t you really need two mandibles? Because you could cheat and claim two for one?” She looked at his face. “Right. Not the point. I didn’t know that. But now I want it back even more.”

He said “What if I tacked some of your hair to my wall?”

She said “That’d be a little weird.”

He saw her eyeing the shard and held it over his head. 

She said “Oh come on. I’m not going to tackle you.”

He said “Would you just explain, please?” He lowered his hand but held it behind his back.

She said impatiently “Stop giving me retrieval challenges. My brain can’t help but figure out how to get it away from you just because you’re keeping it from me. Put it on the desk so I can concentrate. I’m like a varren if someone runs away from them. I have instincts. I can’t help it.”

He slowly put it down on the desk.

She said “It’s embarrassing.”

He said “Better than terrifying.”

She said “True. Okay. When you were shot, there was so much blood. Enough outside of your body so that it was hard to believe that you had any left. I…I glued myself to you with Medigel. I tried to keep you from bleeding out by sticking a finger in your main artery and gluing it there. I was trying to keep your blood from forming a bigger pool around me. I was kneeling in your blood. After the hours of you being in surgery, when I came back here, I was covered with your blood, with the remainder of your artery still on my hand. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I came back up here, and when I took off my armor, your blood was in the hinges, and so was that.” She gestured to the shard. “I hadn’t seen you in so long. I…I don’t know. I took that piece with me into the shower. Like...a worry bead or a touchstone. I cleaned the blood and scorch off while I washed the blood off me, and it was just…nice to have a piece of you with me. When I went back down to see you, I left it there. Every now and then, if I’m thinking, I rub it between my fingers. It’s comforting. It’s not…I never intended for it to be a display. Just…part of you that I could keep with me.”

He pulled her into a hug and pressed his mouth to the top of her head, then took the shard off the desk and said “I’m still keeping it.”

She was upset way out of proportion to the weird situation. “But I told you!”

He said “You can rub me in the shower, now, Venri. I’m keeping it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Lair of the Shadow Broker

Shepard

Liara had given her access to a huge amount of data. She could see how and why Liara had been obsessed these last years. As an obsessive herself, it was a kindred spirit feeling. Liara, out of everybody, had stayed on point. 

Morim felt a voyeuristic thrill that she hadn't felt this strongly in a while, not really since she'd stolen from people. She'd tracked people, followed their patterns, figured out how to case a place, read a mark. 

This was different. This was Garrus. 

She really shouldn't look. 

Garrus.

She REALLY shouldn't look. She was out of practice lying to Garrus. She shouldn't lie to Garrus. She didn't want to lie to Garrus. She did not want to get caught lying to Garrus.

Could she help lying to Garrus, her brain being what it was?

Garrus.

Shit, Shepard, grow a Gods damned conscience. Let it go. Imagine that conversation. "Hey, I had the opportunity to view the Shadow Broker's dossier on you. You know, nothing major, nothing big, just your most vulnerable moments. It's not a violation of your privacy at all." 

No, she wouldn't say that.

She tapped on his name. Just his name. There was a picture.

Ah shit, the picture had a label.

"Former C-Sec officer. Exceptional tactical and team-building skills. Leadership potential overshadowed by Shepard. Unlikely to fully develop under Shepard's command."

Well…fuck you, Shadow Broker. I'm glad I killed you. I mean, I was glad before, but now extra glad. You shouldn't have knocked Garrus to the ground, that's what you fucking get.

She shouted "LIARA!"

Liara turned calmly and looked at her. "Shepard?"

She said "Is it okay if I break some stuff in here? I'll replace it. Fuck. FUCK."

Liara said "Shepard –"

She said "Please, call me Morim. Really, anything breakable, just point me toward it. I won't use your…charming drone as target practice."

Liara came forward and gave her a hug "Morim. What is it?"

Morim pointed at the screen. "Fuck. I broke him. I fucking…broke him. Ah, shit."

Liara looked at the screen for a moment, considered, and then leaned on the console. "Well…"

Morim said "See?! I'm gonna cry. If it bothers you, well, if it bothers you, fuck off, I'm having a moment."

Liara smiled "Morim, I've been inside your head. It won't bother me."

Morim said "Right. Oh shit, and I'm sorry about that, it's a mess in here."

Liara said "It's okay. You can cry and you can break things if you want to. It's…an interesting mess."

Morim laughed and said "Oh, fuck you, T’Soni. Well…at least I didn't break you."

Liara said "No. You didn't break me. I'm good. I missed you, but I'm good."

Morim said "I missed you too. You're an entirely different person though. I'm really sorry I missed out on your friendship."

Liara said "You always had my friendship. Yes, I'm attracted to you and always will be, but what's more important is friendship. And…being inside your head was an inspiration. It took me a good long while to separate everything out. I was overwhelmed. My mother, the Prothean data, my attraction to you, watching you…well, anyway, I watched you. I saw who you and Garrus were together. He was already in your head before I got there. I still couldn't help letting you know, and then Kaidan had to drag me out for some sort of showdown like a child who had stolen a cookie. Yes, I still wanted that cookie, but…"

Morim started to laugh "This metaphor is getting weird."

Liara laughed "It was all weird, it's appropriate. I knew Kaidan had no chance, I wasn't really sure that Garrus would ever feel about you the way you felt about him. I didn't even know how you felt exactly. I figured…why not be as brave as I can be. Awkward, but…"

Morim said "Brave. Liara, if I had been as brave as you were, maybe I wouldn't have broken Garrus."

Liara tilted her head back and thought "I know why you're upset. I know how you broke him. It isn't about his leadership skills. It isn't about that sentence on the screen, which is right, but for the wrong reasons. I saw him at your funeral. Of all of us, then, he was broken. He was so silent, and so vigilant, and I could tell he…Morim, he wanted to kill me and I know he restrained himself. I know he blamed me for your death, for not stopping you. I wanted to try to comfort him, but there was a limit around him, a self-imposed distance. Tali was a small comfort to him, but I couldn’t be. She hadn't been there on the ship with you. He didn't blame her. If I had reached out to him, tried to…hug him or touch him or tell him I was sorry, he would have torn me to pieces with his hands. He didn't want to, but he couldn't keep himself from feeling he would. I was …I was right there with you, minutes before you died. You ordered me to leave. If I'd…anyway, he knew. He knew he could have stopped you. He knew that if it had been him, if he'd been there, he would have stopped you. He blamed me, but that was only a tiny fraction of how much he blamed himself. I didn't test it, I didn't reach out to him, I respected his privacy and preference, and then he disappeared and I couldn’t find him. He didn’t want to be found. Garrus Vakarian died with you. What was left was Archangel. He and I went in different directions. That blame…I took it on myself. It was my burden, and he…here's where we talk about leadership. He's an exceptional leader. At your funeral, his assessment of the situation made me who I am right now. Yes, I had your example, but I had his example. No excuses, no limitations of responsibility. You would have forgiven me for letting you die. You would have said it wasn't my fault. He expected more of me. If he hadn't let me know I should have done something about it, I wouldn't have done something about it. You wouldn't be here. So no, you didn't limit his leadership skills. He has always led. You can't take that away from him. You listen to him, you follow his lead, and we all have. Every look he gave the squad over your shoulder, every turn of his eye and his expectation about the mission, he gave that to us. You were right to bring him with you because if you screwed up…and you would screw up…he would fix it. So…yes. You broke him, but you didn't limit his leadership. The important question is, and this is where you're failing the same way you failed when Garrus first got into your head…did you ask him what he wanted? Do you think that he is sorry that you broke him? Do you think he would give you up if he went back in time and had to do it over again? Do you think you will fail to help him rebuild himself, better than he was? Think carefully, because as much as he needed you, you needed him. It's likely if he gave you up, or if you made some unnecessary sacrifice and gave him up, you'd both be dead, separately."

Morim shook her head and hugged Liara. "Damn, T'Soni. That much insight is going to be very helpful in a Shadow Broker. I'm grateful you didn't let it all go to waste and that someone is smart enough to get their shit together on their own."

Liara said "I was never on my own. I had you both with me."

Morim said "You know, if you put your hand on my ass, I'll feel better about missing out on having an affair with you."

Liara said "Tempting, but I'd feel cheap, you'd tell Garrus, he'd kill me. Or want to. Again."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Arrival

Garrus

She hadn't told him she was leaving, and all he'd gotten were a few Omni Tool alerts.

Shepard: "Out hunting. I mean shopping. Okay, hunting. Tell you about it later."

Garrus: "This doesn't count against your score. I'm still ahead. Even if you provide footage."

Shepard: "That's because I'm a biotic. I don't need a gun."

Garrus: "It's because your aim sucks and you probably shouldn't carry a gun."

Shepard: "Should I calculate how many biotic points I'd have while you will always have zero?"

Garrus: "No, you should not."

She could handle a hunt. Hell, she might be screwing with him and really was only shopping. He hadn't worried.

As time passed he realized she’d intended for him not to worry.

By the second day he had been worried. He'd talked to Joker, who had no idea why they were hovering where they were.

Garrus had asked EDI to compile a list of local transportation in the last 48 hours and had narrowed down her position by a tracer signal from her, a beacon activated if her Omni Tool was blocked on conventional channels. It still wasn’t a clear signal and there was distortion that made it hard for him to know where to look, but enough information to pick a direction. He didn't want to give away how he'd found her. They might need it again. He hoped she'd be around to need it again. Fortunately he didn't have to, by the time he'd asked Joker to change course, there were no questions and Joker accepted his requests as commands. 

Soon after he'd gotten another message from the same mechanism that provided the signal that located her. They were close. He wondered if she’d just sent it, or if he’d just gotten into range. 

Shepard: In trouble. Don't say 'of course you are.'

Garrus: This is my ‘not surprised’ font.

Shepard: Went from hunting to hunted, mixed bag of both now. Comm relay out.

Garrus: Trying to locate you.

Shepard: Head to the Mass Relay. Can't miss me.

Garrus: On it.

Shepard: Out in the open soon.

He'd heard nothing more and his last response of ‘Be there soon’ was never answered. With her final directions, they were ready. By the time she had restored comm, they were on their way within seconds, the Mass Relay’s menacing glow growing until it took up too much of the skyline.

He'd been in the shuttle after Joker scrambled to pick her up. He'd seen her stumble toward the shuttle, clutching at her sides, with a stagger to her gait, because both legs hurt equally. She couldn't even limp to spare herself the pain. He'd covered the distance and lifted her, carried her back. She'd struggled out of his grip and punched emergency intercom frequencies. Her voice was stark, jagged metal "Jeff, the moment we are on board, we need to be gone from here. Through the relay. Can you do that from this close?"

Joker's voice had returned, calm and reassuring. "Normally no, but I already figured out how I can. Hold onto something. We'll make it, Commander."

She'd closed her eyes and said quietly "Thank you."

It would have been nice and dramatic right then to have her faint, but that didn't happen. He could have had an excuse to touch her again, but she sat, with her head in her hands, breathing steadily. Calm. She held on through the turbulence.

Some part of him was screaming to reach out to her, touch her, help her, but he throttled that instinct and kicked it down. Not now. This was not about him. This was not about them. This wasn't even really about her. Whatever had happened, it was about that. She’d joked with him while she had been in this shape, asking him not to say ‘I told you so’ to put him at ease about her. Even though he’d known better, he’d played along. He’d follow her lead again, here. If she could do it, he could do it. Even if he didn’t know why. She’d tell him.

By the time they had disembarked her spine was ice and her legs carried her without a limp. He'd walked behind her to the Med Bay, knowing that she might not have gone there if he hadn’t been behind her and looking for the opportunity to take her there himself.

Dr. Chakwas had asked her a few questions about pain, and Morim had answered them quietly and inaccurately. Dr. Chakwas knocked her out without warning. Good. Karin had gathered all she was going to gather from her mental state, and turned to diagnostics and repair of her physical state. He didn't read to her, and Karin didn't make him leave. He sat in the corner like a vigil Spirit, watching over her while she slept.

He'd only left when Admiral Hackett arrived and asked if she would be able to speak to him, if Dr. Chakwas could wake her and give them some privacy.

That was in the doctor's hands, and he left before he had to hear what had happened and he was forced to inflict grievous bodily harm on a high-ranking Alliance officer.

He'd left for the Battery and mechanically worked on the Thanix integrations, which he'd done for the last 3 days, while she was gone. He'd kept it together because people needed him to keep it together. He'd eaten, he'd appeared to sleep, he'd engaged in conversation as though nothing were wrong. Nobody else was even aware she was off the ship or that it was an unusual occurrence. He realized everyone else was used to hearing from her at irregular intervals due to her absences on missions, and only he was accustomed to daily if not hourly updates.

He'd worked for a few hours before he heard from her again, after Hackett had left he assumed, once again an Omni Tool update.

Shepard: "Meet me outside. Going dark."

Outside? Outside where? She wasn't outside the Battery or in their quarters. He’d asked "EDI, where is Commander Shepard?"

She'd answered "Commander Shepard's last known location is outside the air lock. Her vital signs are monitored in her suit, though I cannot provide a visual. She has otherwise disabled local monitoring."

He asked "What do her vital signs look like?"

She said "Stable. She has an elevated heart rate over her baseline. Statistically that is normal for Commander Shepard and is not a cause for medical concern."

Garrus had said "Thanks, EDI."

Going dark. Going dark Omni Tool or going dark the vastness of space or going dark her expression when she'd come back on board?

Probably all three. He disabled his Omni Tool. He suited up and headed out the air lock.

She was sitting down, hands wrapped around her knees, looking up and out. Joker had taken them nowhere in particular that he could identify, just a jump through an anonymous Mass Relay. The relay was on the other side of the ship, so the only view was darkness and scattered stars, whatever system they were in was unknown to him. Not his stars.

The suits all had relayed intercoms, so she could talk if she wanted to. He sat down next to her and waited.

She moved so that her back was leaning against his. She'd tipped her helmet back, but it didn't reach his helmet, only the rising angle of his armor cowl. He changed his position until the backs of their helmets were touching. They sat like that a few minutes. She'd opened a comm channel to his, so he could hear her breathing.

She said in a weary, detached voice “Thank you for finding me. That Mass Relay detonated, taking out over 300,000 Batarians. I’m rounding down. That asteroid was directed into the Mass Relay by an Alliance operation, Hackett asked me to rescue someone. That someone was indoctrinated and having tea parties with a relic that liked to give questionable advice. I tried to stop her, she tried to stop me." She paused and then said thoughtfully "I had to stop her a few times. She had an unreasonable amount of security on that asteroid. Her job was to direct that asteroid into the Mass Relay to save the area from coming under Reaper invasion. The relic let her know they were coming. She decided she wanted to meet her heroes instead. I killed the person I was supposed to rescue, and I killed everyone on that asteroid either before or after the detonation. I was unconscious for two days. I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for going. I don’t want to argue with you over the not sorry part. I know that's not fair.”

Garrus absorbed the information and then said in a carefully casual tone “Okay. I suppose you’ve earned the right to a bit of drama.”

She said “I’m trying to prevent drama.”

Garrus said “If you say so. You realize we’re sitting outside the ship. Took me a while to figure out what ‘outside’ meant.”

She said “Okay, I’m sorry about that. I suspect I wasn’t thinking clearly. I did the math. You know how much time 300,000 seconds is? If I were to honor the death of each person I killed by holding vigil for them, one second at a time, I’d be up straight for 83 hours. I can’t stay up straight for 83 hours or even honor their memories because I didn’t know any of them. I'm broken, and I…I want to be broken for a little while. I want you to be here for it. Just honoring the pieces. I'll reassemble, I'll heal, but I don't want to put it behind me just yet. I don't want to hide it from you. I'm broken and some part of me wants to stay broken, follow the second law of thermodynamics. Entropy. Everything moves toward entropy. ‘The state of entropy will always increase over time.’ Some parts of me always want to give in to the gravity, the shattering of that. I can’t change entropy. I can try, and I can fail. There’s a lovely image that I like to use at times like this…although I’ve never experienced anything like this. It’s helped before, but now I’m struggling. There’s a Japanese art called Kintsugi. It came about as a method of repair and then became an art form of its own. Broken pottery pieces would be fixed with lacquer in the joints, and the lacquer would be mixed with powdered metals; gold, silver or platinum. The pieces are really beautiful physically and metaphorically. I’m beginning to wonder if there are any original pieces left of me, or if it’s all lacquer.”

Garrus said “So you’d be made of glue and gold? Sounds about right.”

She said “You say…the nicest things.” She still sounded tired, but less bleak. 

Garrus said “Just trying to keep you inspired.”

She said “Liara told me that I don’t ask you what you want enough. It was good advice. It occurred to me I’ve also never asked you about your family. Orphan’s habit, I’m afraid. I didn’t have a family, and then I went straight to the military, so I never got used to asking other people questions about their families, and it always ended up with an awkward ‘sorry’ from someone, even if they meant well. There was no polite way to escape the reaction I got from telling someone I never knew my parents. I admit sometimes I'd just make up a family to avoid the look in people's eyes. While I’m admitting to terrible things and hoping you don’t get so angry at me that you break my neck, I wanted to say…I’m sorry I haven’t asked you what you wanted. I’m sorry I’ve never asked you about your family. While I’m feeling numb to it all and unable to fathom reality as it stands, is there anything I should ask you? Anything you should be able to tell me without me being upset, with just acceptance that all is fucked and I’m helpless to do much about it?”

Garrus said “You could ask me about my mother.”

She said “Tell me about your mother.”

Garrus said “She’s dying.”

Her hand unwrapped from her knees and she put it out to the side, he took her hand in his own.

She said “I’d like to meet her. I’d like to know about her. Families…I have no experience with parents.”

He said “Well, parents are different. My mother is dying, my father is an asshole.”

She said “Really? So I shouldn’t want to meet him?”

He said “No. Not if you want to avoid drama. He’d probably spit on you.”

She said “That’s a shame.”

He said “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be great to have all the people you love in one place to watch over them. Mom could meet Dr. Chakwas, Dad could spit on you, Solana could be the proud, better Turian than I am with an audience.”

She said “Solona?”

He said “Sister. Good Turian. Dutiful. Obedient.”

She said “When did you last see them?”

He said “Long time. I keep in touch with them, but I haven’t seen them since choosing to go to Omega.”

She said “Why is your mother dying?”

He said “Corpalis syndrome.”

She said “Entropy. I'm sorry, Garrus. That's a horrible condition. I want to know about them. Even the spitting. You should know that I’ve grown accustomed to the idea that some people just want to spit on me. I don’t take it personally anymore.”

He said with a bitter edge “Well, he’d mean it personally. I haven’t told you about them. Not because I didn’t want to tell you, but because you don’t have parents or siblings. You’ve heard about my father before, his expectation of me. I’m at peace with him as he is. I love him as he is, but I never told you because you don’t know your father or your mother. I’d love them and take them for granted and complain about them…and you would see me abuse what you can’t have. This may come as a shock, but I’m not always that nice to people.”

She said thoughtfully “Neither am I.”

He didn’t argue.

She said "You'd have finished the mission if I were gone."

He didn't argue.

She said “Garrus…would you run away with me? Not now. I know not now, but if…when this is all over and we’ve saved more lives than I just contributed to wiping out…would you please run away with me somewhere far from this? Away from death. I know we can’t outrun death, but we could stop chasing it. Someday. Please.”

He squeezed her hand, which was encased in armor, but he pushed her fingers together. “Anywhere, Venri.”

She said “Thank you. I want to have something to look forward to. I should tell you, Hackett expects me to turn myself in to face charges, to prevent war. If we survive this. I told him I would.”

He said with mock grouch “You didn’t lead with that bit of information?”

She said “No, I suckered you into a promise instead. Would you marry me, make it official so you have legal rights and I can get conjugal visits?”

He said “Any time.”

She said “Thank you. We could have a lovely ceremony. You could invite your dad, he could spit on me, we could start a new tradition.”

He said “Don’t worry about prison. I’ll break you out.”

She said “That is so…not sweet…sunktan. That is so sunktan.”

He said “You just said that was so river fish.”

She said “I need to work on my accent.”

He sighed and said “Okay, now you’re getting silly, and when you get silly, it’s time for bed.”

She said “I’m so tired.”

He said “I know, Venri. Let’s go walk through the CIC and not take our helmets off, just so people can wonder why the hell we were out here, and so they don’t see that you look like you’re ready to either kill me or fall asleep on me. Maybe both. Hopefully in that order.”

She said “Okay.”

He helped her to her feet and guided her through the CIC, he could hear her crying, but nobody else could.

When the elevator doors closed she sagged against him and he lifted her in his arms, just as he’d wanted to for hours, for days, for years.

He sat her on the bed and started to take off her armor. When she tried to do it herself, he stilled her hands and said “You will let me help.” It was an order, an expectation. She acquiesced and he removed her armor and her clothing, as well as his, and carried her to the shower. He washed her with the gravity of a ritual, her hair, her face, her body, his hands those of a caretaker, as they had been before when she was sick of body and now again when she was sick of soul. She'd cry. She'd stop, she'd start again. 

He wrapped her in a towel and dried her hair, combing it out more carefully than he'd seen her do it. Her eyes were closed now. When her eyes were open it tore at his heart, over and over again.

He wondered if she realized she still hadn’t asked him what he wanted. If it wasn't in her to ask herself what she wanted until her own needs became undeniable, would she ask him? She'd told him she'd give him what he'd already wanted. Run away with her. Marry her. On top of that she’d offered it in sight of his family no matter the cost to her dignity if that was what he wanted. Nobody's opinion mattered but his.

It didn't matter if she asked, he could show her what he wanted.

He put her carefully in bed, stroking a finger over her cheek. When he got in on the other side of the bed, his weight pulled down the mattress and she turned to him along with gravity, along with her wanting to be near him. Her hand rested over his chest, over his heart, her knee drawn up to rest on his thigh. She let out a deep sigh, relaxed into him and fell asleep.

This. He wanted this.


	11. Chapter 11

Meanwhile, in an elevator

Shepard: Okay, reasons why even though we're screwed, there are advantages to now versus then.

Garrus: Shepard can't drive the Mako.

Shepard: Elevator rides are faster.

Tali: We don't have to deal with Udina.

Shepard: Tali wins.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Stop the Collectors: Acquire Reaper IFF

Shepard

Garrus wasn't happy with bringing home a Geth with a sniper rifle, that wasn't hard to tell. "Leave it, we have enough trouble" was barely restrained angry code for "Are you fucking kidding me?" followed up by "You know the risk, that's all I'm going to say," which she assumed meant that was all he was going to say about it then, but he'd have more to say later. That was before she'd made the choice to bring it along. Then just icy silence and glaring. Not at her, definitely not at her, just glaring at anything but her.

A Geth that spoke to her could be invaluable. Of course, a Geth that hijacked the Normandy could be terrible. So she’d make sure the first thing happened and the second didn’t. How? She’d figure that bit out later. EDI could help. In theory. Just in case the IFF wasn’t complicated enough. Sure.

First she had to handle this. Garrus will not appreciate being handled. Oh well. He’d avoided her and headed to the Battery. When she arrived he didn’t turn around, but said “This isn’t a good time” dismissively.

She said “I know, but it’s the only time I have.”

He said, just a little bit louder, as though she hadn't heard him the first time “I’ve got some work to do here.”

She said with determination “Yes. And I’m going to undo everything you do with a few additions if you ignore me. Hell, I’ll have EDI send me reports on your progress and I’ll get subtle with my damage, where you can’t find it. I’ll also find a hammer. I’ll requisition a hammer.”

He turned to look at her and said with drips of contempt “If you’re going to be juvenile-“

She cut him off before she got really, really angry. It's possible that line had already been crossed. “If I…or we…are going to be juvenile, I’d prefer to do it somewhere with better soundproofing. We can do it here or we can do it in our quarters. I’d prefer our quarters because we have some emotionally fragile people on this cruise and I’d prefer to not unhinge them further. But don’t mistake me, I’m willing to screech and bang and cry right here if you won’t move the proceedings. I’ll cry in front of Jack. I’ll call Jack in here and it will scar the shit out of that girl. Not everyone’s tough enough to handle crying maturely so I don’t have to beat the crap out of them for their reaction. Come up in a few minutes. If we walk out of here in our state, people will be talking about us instead of the Geth." She gestured toward his hands and said "Try to unclench your fists.”

Garrus looked down at his hands, sighed and shook them out.

She got to their quarters and moved the table out of the way in case things got rowdy, which she was not discounting at this point in time. She had a tendency to make people angry. Garrus came through a few minutes later, looked at the room and leaned back against the door. “Expecting trouble?”

She tilted her head back and forth as though she were considering different sides of the issue, and then said “You sure you didn’t bring any with you?”

He said, as though speaking to a dense child “Have I ever, even once, countermanded an order you gave?”

Maybe she should have asked him nicely to come up here. She hadn't said please. Too late. She said “Absolutely not. Not once. Even if you disagreed, vehemently.”

He said “Like now.”

She said “Yes, exactly like now, except that now, it isn’t just an order, and you’re not just an excellent soldier who happens to be a Turian that respects orders and backs up his commander. Now it’s not just your death on the line, it’s your life on the line.”

He shook his head “It’s not just my life.”

She said “And I respect that.”

He said caustically “Is that why you moved the furniture?”

She was getting more than a little angry herself now, but tried not to step into obvious traps. This wasn't about her. He was just deflecting. She said “Because I respect you? Yes. Plus, you’re scary and I’m resourceful.”

He smiled in an appropriately scary way. There were teeth. She wanted to lick his teeth, but this probably wasn’t the time. She smiled in return, but not with menace. “So this is what happens when scariness and resourcefulness become drawbacks to a personal relationship.”

He said with sharp directness “That thing shouldn’t be on this ship. I’m not just scary, I’m a tech expert.”

She said “Yes, you are. Come on. Tell me. It’s your life. It’s my life. You should have the opportunity to express yourself outside the moment.”

He said very skeptically “Express myself?”

She said “I’m not saying you can override me in a command decision when we’re out in the field, but I am saying you have the right to say what you feel after. It’s the best I can do. Maybe you’ll change my mind.”

He laughed “Riiight. That’s a trap right there.”

She raised a brow “You don’t think I value your opinion?”

He said “You value my opinion. We agree often. When we don’t agree, you happen to be in command.”

She said “And you are in the unfortunate position of having to listen to my crazy ass, so come on, let me have it.”

Garrus sighed and said “So we what…fight about it?”

She said "You can break things, but the fish tank and the hamster cage are off limits.”

He drawled “I have no interest in fighting the hamster. Or the fish. Or you.”

She said “Okay. Then just talk.”

He shook his head and pushed off the door, come toward her and took her hands in his, and then held them over her head and said “Ambush.”

She said with surprise “What? Come on! Fuck, I can never tell if you’re lying, stupid…Turian face.”

He repeated with certainty “Ambush. So what has you wanting to beat me up and give me a lecture?”

She looked at her hands and then at him and said with accusation “Holy crap, cheater.”

He nodded, lifted her by both hands separately at the wrists and then held her against a wall with his knee between her legs and said “Kick and I stand on your feet.”

She laughed, relaxed, cracked her neck and said “This is absolutely not going the way I thought it would.”

He said in an angry voice “Yeah, that you’d beat the crap out of me?”

She said “I wouldn’t…well…maybe.”

He made an unmistakable sound of anger. No need to be translated. “Not maybe. We haven’t sparred before, but I’m not doing it now. It’s possible you won’t recognize any actual limits and you’d kick the hell out of me full bore while I was busy trying to pull punches.”

She said, trying to de-escalate “Shit. You’ve been paying attention. It wasn’t my intention, though. Considering the position that I’m in right now, I think it’s possible that you’re angry." She looked at him for a moment and then said more quietly "If…perhaps if…you are right, then I’m very dangerous and you don’t have an exit strategy from this position without me taking out the backs of your knees, for instance. I’m not even mentioning the possibilities with biotics. I didn't, however, sucker punch you when you entered the room. I also don't think you want to hurt me. You will have to let me go at some point.”

He considered while glaring at her and said "I'm not sure I'm considering that as a viable option."

She still wanted to lick his teeth, still not the right time. Unfortunately. She said lightly "Oh, sure, you can hold a crazy woman to the wall, you can even punch her and knock her out, but careful if you do. And what happens in a few awkward hours when your arms get tired and all I have to say is ‘Gar-RUS…I have to peeeeee.' Gonna feel pretty silly then."

He closed his eyes, tilted his head down and almost laughed, she could hear it in his breathing. Then he said "So if I ask you nicely, you won't take out my knees and you won't retaliate?"

She said "Yes. You don’t even have to ask. Trust me. We can escalate again at any point, and that's okay with me too. I can even spar in a fair manner, as long as we do it so we take off a piece of armor once someone makes a salient point or their opponent has to tap out. Pick a side, talk or wrestle."

He said "You're betting on me not wanting to wrestle?"

She said "I’m predicting you have some things to say. Wrestling later is always an option. In fact I might insist."

He gripped her wrists tighter for a moment and she imagined her bones bending. He made a decision and said “All right, say what you wanted to say.” He released her hands and backed away. 

He wasn't going to risk his knees. He wasn't going to turn his back on her. He could have stayed at the door and sniped at her, but he'd closed the distance why? In this moment he didn't trust her to not hurt him. He'd restrained her not to hurt her, but to protect himself. He wasn't as aware of his own body language as she was of her own. He relied on his stillness and his distance, and she always had to be aware of every up close nuance of voice and line of her body or someone else’s body to get what she wanted, turn something her way. He'd backed away from her, the vulnerability of that like a scream in the room that only she could hear. He didn't think to conceal it, alter it. So angry at her wasn't the answer, or not the full answer. Angry at her effect on him. He felt helpless. She made him feel helpless. She changed course to triangulate again, confirm her sense of him. She said “I really didn’t think that far ahead. I’ve said what I was going to say. I’ve done a lot for you to be angry about. I’m not easy to live with, or work with, or talk to on strategic matters. It wasn’t that much of an ambush. I wanted you genuinely to have a chance to say…whatever it is you wanted to say. I wanted to let you be angry about it, and be prepared for that.”

Garrus said “You say that now…”

She said drily “You weren’t next to you when I brought that thing on board. I was.”

He conceded “All right. Yes. I was angry. You’ve had crew members angry at you before. You’ve had me angry at you before. This isn’t new.”

She said “I’m not in love with other crew members. It matters. Yeah, I have to go out and put you at risk and put myself at risk and make a crazy-ass call that I can’t explain because of my thought process. But you can explain your thought process. You have the words, I don’t. For me it’s not about a Geth, it’s about me not having much time left with you, and I won’t waste it in separate rooms. You said my pleasure and distress sounds are the same. Sometimes your pleasure and distress sounds are the same as well. Growling."

He said "I did not growl."

She sighed and said "It was implied." Angry Garrus was a brick wall. Right now he was going to play purely defensive. Batting at him would only make him turtle up. What to do with a predator…don't attack. Run away, maybe he will chase. She said carefully "Okay. If you don't want to talk and you don't want to wrestle, I apologize. Everything is fine, nothing needs to be said, I overreacted and I relinquish my hammer. I didn't move the furniture because I was planning to hurt you. I moved the furniture because I planned on you being hurt when you arrived. If you're not, it was a bad instinct, and I apologize." She shook her head briefly. "An opportunity for you to express is not a demand that you express. You expressed that you have no interest in expressing. Okay."

He shook his head "I'm confused. I mean, really confused."

She shook her head to look as though she were sympathizing, but she was not confused. She said "Yeah, so am I. Too much stuff going on. I apologize." If she encouraged him to protect her from her own foolishness, maybe he'd feel safe enough to talk.

He closed his eyes and thought "So you threatened an angry Turian and then cleared the furniture to give him space to beat on you in case it came to that?" The harsh edge of his voice was fading. She loved his edge and even his harsh, but directed at her it was…what? Painful? Not exactly. She imagined briefly a world where he was nothing but angry at her. She was sure she'd still want to…she regretted not taking more advantage of when he had her against the wall, because that had real potential. She began to question her entire reason for starting this conversation. Was it to help him? Was it to ease any guilt she might have? Was it just because she'd rather argue with him than do anything else, something more constructive? She analyzed her own anger and motivation and came up empty other than she just wanted him near, all the time, and being far was unacceptable. It wasn't a weakness…exactly…it was a reason to live. A really good reason to live.

She laughed "Seemed a good idea at the time. I don't know. I just know that you're angry. You've been angry. I found you angry, you're still angry, and I maybe only have a few days left to see if you aren't going to be angry. I think I'm okay with it, and then I'm not. I'm okay with it again. I wasn’t intending to poke at you until you exploded…and did something sexy." 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Only a few days left?"

She said "We're getting close to the end here. I believe my own PR. I'm about to lose people I care for, people I am responsible for, people who are counting on me. Maybe you. Maybe me. I know you think it’s selfish that I want it to be me." 

He said "I know. This is where our opinions differ and always will. It's not an acceptable loss, my Venri, and it's the one you're planning in your head. That's part of why I'm angry. I can't convince you that your life is more valuable than mine. No matter how many…sexy things I do." He started to laugh, then stopped and looked at her, his head tilted. "You really thought I'd hurt you?"

She said "No…I mean, it's always a possibility. You're big and fast and you have a stupid lying Turian face, but no. You could break me in half. You wouldn't, though. I really wouldn't hurt you, either. I am just trying to figure out what you need. Stories about stress and tie breakers, planning for difficult missions. I'm new at this, give me a break."

He said "A re-enactment?"

She said "Mmmm…my plan wasn't that specific. The inside of my head is not a place where things become clear, in focus, like a picture. I'm more about patterns over time than one moment in time. I don't have much time and there isn't much of a pattern so far, between the two of us. It isn't a huge question like ‘Does Garrus love me’ because I know that answer. It isn't a question like ‘Do I love Garrus’ because I know that answer as well. We've nearly bled to death in front of each other, but we haven't had any time to have unguarded, unhurried and unworried time together. I…essentially only know you under stress. We're both…so busy guarding each other from our internal turmoil. You've held me in your arms and tried to keep me from dying, I've done the same for you, but we did those things alone. I didn't let you see the pain I was in, you didn't let me see the pain you were in. We're both protective. There is nowhere safer for me than in your arms, in your heart. But…if you felt anywhere near as terrified when I was near death as I felt when you were near death, there is a depth, a trove, a richness of pain that I have caused you to experience. I hear in your voice that you're terrified for me, and sometimes of me. We’ve missed, hidden or concealed so much of our own history. I know it's wise that we do, I know it's circumstance. I know we also thrive on the unspoken. We can't spend our days letting our heart's blood splash the walls. It would upset the children. But…I can't help but want you to see that when you worry, when you are scared, when you are angry at me, I feel it. It matters. I may not be able to change what I am doing. I'm still willing to flat out fight you for the right to talk to that stupid Geth…but only because I think it would be better for us, despite the risk. Ultimately better. Eventually better. I know not better right now, but I can’t sacrifice what I believe to make my life easier. I see your face, I hear your voice, and I can't...Gods, Garrus, I don't want to torture you, but I have, and I am. You deserve a life of…a life of…not this. Not me doing this. I guess that's how I used to process my loving you, would be to fantasize about the things I couldn't give you but if I…if I did my job you could get for yourself. A woman who loved you as you could love her, fully, wholly and as you were raised to expect, to want. You could be some arms instructor in an academy somewhere, chewing out recruits and turning out polished soldiers that would count you as a mentor, an inspiration, someone to toast to and tell stories about. You could have seven kids to go home to, and they would adore you and climb up on your legs until you spun them around. Anyway, that's what I wanted you to have, or something like it. I didn't get that for you. I still can't get that for you. Instead you got months of pain and worry and then years of grief. I held onto that idea, of you being happy, and it gave me something strong to light my way. Something to live for, something to die for. Before it was for duty and for…I don't know, the freedom of varren puppies everywhere in a general sense, but it became so very specific. So the galaxy is a place where Garrus can live in it and be happy. It was all very noble and clean and bullshit, because I have put you in more danger than anybody. I can't leave you behind, I can't go out there without you beside me and the absolute crashing selfishness of that makes me ashamed of myself."

Garrus said quietly "Venri?"

She said "Yes?"

He said "Seven children is excessive."

She started to laugh and then couldn't stop, and he dragged her into his lap, ran his fingers through her hair and waited until the giggles died down. After a time he said "Other than that, I can't really argue with your assessment. Everything you've said is true. I could hope for a time where we could share the moments of our lives at gentle and convenient intervals, telling stories and catching each other up on our internal lives. It doesn't surprise me that you'd want to see other people happy and you don't see yourself in the future. There have definitely been times that I've wanted to put my hands on you in anger, in frustration, in desperation. Maybe knocking you out that one time felt so good I just want to do it again. I will always have some part of my mind that wants to keep you safe by taking you far away from the danger. I am aware that you might die inches from me, out of my reach, and I won't be able to save you, and that it would be by your choice. That day could be today or it could be anywhere between now and hundred years from now. We're about the same age, we have about the same lifespan. If I had those hundred years with you, maybe we'd have time to tell each other everything. Maybe our biggest choice in a day would be what we're going to have for lunch. Maybe I'll have enough days to try all the things I've wanted to try with you. That's why we're doing this, right? So that other people have a future? Why not us? We should pour our energy into that future. Maybe we die. Maybe we don't. Someday we will. There hasn't been much of a future for me since you died and I saw my inspiration fail. We now know failure is possible, if not likely, we now know the cost. I know that you can be taken from me. You know that people you counted on to get a job done could be taken from you."

She said "But not you."

He said "But not me. Never me." He pressed his mouth to the top of her head. "So there's something we can do for each other. I can decide to take your inspiration and find some hope. I'm not promising that I'm going to be crazy like you, but I can replace the fear on my face with something else. Faith. You've earned that, at least." He paused for a moment, his hand tracing patterns on her back, then he said "And you…you can do some things for me."

She said "Do what?"

He said "You will realize that if I am faltering in my faith, and you see anger or fear on my face, feel desperation in my hands or my body, catch sight of despair in my eyes, that it is not because you have failed me. You take risks I am unable to take myself. The distance between how far I will go and how far you will go is terrifying, but seeing that distance over and over, seeing you leap it, that’s why I’m with you. I still don’t have your instinct for that space beyond where I can go. I do need to be on the edge of that space waiting for you to come back. To catch you, to stop you from going further or to back you up. Without me doing that, you’d be dead. You’d be dead more often. I know I could have prevented the first time had I been there. You do your job, let me do mine. My job of keeping you alive is just as important as your job is to you, plus you make it hard for me at times. But you don't need to worry about managing my issues or handling my reactions to your decisions. I will come back to you. I will always come back to you and you can have faith that if it's a few minutes or an hour or days or after we die, if there is an afterlife or reincarnation, I will come back to you. I am for you. If my will is my own, I am for you."

The relief his words brought her washed through her, causing transformation. She soaked that feeling in and her shoulders released the tension she had been holding there.

He continued in a more stern voice "The second thing is that you're going to let me run every diagnostic process possible on that thing, and I will be in the room when you activate it, armed."

She nodded "That makes me sound very reasonable. I'm touched."

He pulled her face to rest against his, her cheek against the rough scar and ragged edges of his mandible, leaving his hand around the back of her neck and the other hand resting on the curve of her hip. "The third thing is to realize that, like you, I am not always unified in my intent, in my wishes, in my needs. You're many things to me. You can't read my face well, and maybe you never will, but you can hear it in my voice. To me you are my Commander, a person whose purpose and orders I would follow wherever it led. You are my Shepard, the leader who involved herself in the lives of all of those who followed her, who encouraged humor and excellence. You are my Morim, the woman who read me poetry and taught me how to appreciate drinking. You are my Venri, the woman I gave myself to because I could imagine no better mate, no better calling than to serve you. The last name I have for you, my Bakan, came to me when I saw your face through my scope in Omega and thought you were a vengeful spirit, come to take me to my death. I welcomed her. I welcomed her anger, her blame, her rage, her vengeance. While you were alive you gave me inspiration, intimacy, laughter, purpose…and I am still struggling with what my Bakan wants from me after her death, what I want from her. You're all the things you were before, but my Bakan brings me lust. Every restriction of life or death or duty was gone when I saw my Bakan, when she offered me anger, blame and fury if it meant I could go with her. Now every time I see you with death at your fingertips, mercy in your eyes or with the blood of a dozen enemies splashing your face, while you step over and not around their bodies, you are my Bakan. Sometimes I don't want to protect you, I don't want to follow you, I want to push you to the floor and watch your eyes as your knees bend because your strength fails you when my hands are on your body. I want to strip every bit of clothing off you because you will let me, and I want to touch you, taste you until you moan, until you whimper, until you beg me to give you what you need. I want to drown in the fact that you need me. I want to watch you transform from that gold-dripping, blood-dripping elemental Goddess of alternating mercy and death into the woman who bites her lip and licks at my skin."

His hands were tightening on her. Her eyes had closed and the sound of his voice spread a deep, hard flush in her skin and a giddy feeling of losing air and losing balance rippled through her. She said quietly while she shuffled ideas in her mind, sifting them, choosing her response. "Okay."

He answered "Okay?"

She said "Okay. If I'm going to be the cause of your stress, it's heartening to know I can also be the solution." She stood and held her hands out to him, he took them and she pulled him to his feet. 

She started to take his clothes off and he began to reach for hers, but she slapped his hand lightly and said "no" with her head down, concentrating on getting his clothing off without snagging on anything. He didn't try again, but watched her as she moved. When she was done, she stood close, touching him with her hands, seeking the edges, the corners, sliding her palms over the curves and bends. His plates made him seem much cooler than she was, but his skin had more heat. Variations of temperature all over him. She took her time, long minutes spent in exploration, her eyes following her fingers. She stroked until she could hear his breathing speed up a little, and then a little bit more, and his heartbeat became a stronger thing through her fingertips when she strayed from his plates and touched his skin.

She kept her expression neutral and lifted her eyes to his, smiled slightly and rapped her knuckles on his groin plates and said "Open up."

Looking at his face, she could read that expression. Startled and amused with an outrush of already fast paced breathing. She thought he was thinking of something to say, so she spread her hand over the leg plates and used her other hand, one finger to block his mouth. "No talking."

He stared at her for a few moments and she tilted her head and raised a brow. It was true, he was locked up tight and she couldn't get in unless he wanted her to. It wasn't really that much of a long shot that he'd want her to, so there was no anxiety, only anticipation, which she let show on her face. She wasn't wrong. His plates trembled and convulsed once, along with a soft groan from him, retracting to either side, and her hand slid along the edges of the opening. She smiled at him lightly, in thanks, and then looked at his cock in the revealed section of his body. No testicles. Turians were always hard, she'd learned. She'd learned the feel with her fingers, but hadn't seen him yet, not in full light, not at her leisure. His cock was coated everywhere with a few millimeters of a gel. She'd had her fingers on him, but not her hands. She pressed her ear to his chest and touched him, her hands gliding over him. The gel wasn't sticky or oily, but felt slick under her fingertips and palm, but her skin stayed dry, although they began to tingle after a time. A psychoactive glove over him that slid along her fingertips. His breathing was getting tighter, more convulsive, shivers through the plates where her ear was pressed.

She released him from her hands with a soft groan from his mouth, stood facing him and looked him in the eyes until she had his full attention on her face. She said "You can use your hands, but only your hands. You said you wanted my knees to bend, so do it."

His hands came around to her face, and his fingers stroked at her collarbones, her jaw, her eyebrows, and then once on her bottom lip. He caressed her, his hands down the sides of her throat, and then spread his hands over her shoulders and extended his claws enough to dig into her skin. He closed his eyes once and then slowly opened them, and then pushed her down slowly, watching her eyes, his breathing deliberate.

She watched his eyes and moved as he guided her to her knees. She closed her eyes and tested a lick over the head of his cock, her hands gliding along the sides and closing over the base. He tasted…like tea, with her tongue feeling that furry feel from tea, and a little numb. She really had no idea if this would even feel good to him. She was curious and taking her time, investigating with her tongue and her fingertips, the spread of a palm and the line of a nail. His response cleared up her concern that she was enjoying this alone for her quickly. He’d said her name, curiously and then urgently and now he was growling. He still smelled like Christmas. Well, she’d have to change that idea, she was no longer thinking like a 5 year old that wanted to play with her presents. He smelled like promises of darker things, blood and teeth and possession. The gel didn't scrape off or split from a gentle probe with a nail or teeth edges, only indentations that flowed back into original shape. Permanent, the medium through which Turian drugs traveled. She took him in her mouth as far as she could, her hands on the rest of his length, her fingertip and tongue on the articulations. There was no goal, just touching him, slowly feeling her fingers and tongue go numb, her limbs starting to tremble, warmth spreading through her. His claws on her shoulders were slowly working their way into her skin in pressure and spasm, a scratch and then a piercing and then a run of blood in welling drops that she could feel down her back. It didn't feel like pain, just another bright spot of feeling, something good. His hands were on her shoulders, her throat, her hair, moving, now gentle, now urgent. It all blended together until her rhythm faltered and she thought her knees wouldn't let her stand soon if she didn't stand now.

So she’d made everything as clear as she could. He knew they had a safe word. He knew now that she welcomed his fantasies and would be a part of them. He would know he had permission to do what he wanted, and that she would stop him if she had to. She'd told him it was okay if she fainted. She stood up slowly, kissing a path up to his mouth, pulling his head down to hers, a head rush from change in elevation, her legs not that steady. Her heart was pounding through her veins and she had to do something before she forgot. She kissed over to his ear and said "Thank you. Your turn. Now you make the rules, and I'll follow them."

He didn’t tell her what his rules were. He picked her up by the waist and threw her on the bed and shredded her clothes off, licking at her skin as it was exposed. He discovered she was ticklish at the back of her knees and the arches of her feet and tickled her until she was gasping for air, and then followed the sound to her mouth with his own, kissing her, the cool plates of his mouth warming against her lips, his tongue along the edges of her teeth, one of his arms supporting his weight, his other arm exploring her body, from breast to hip and back again, stroking her neck, her shoulder.

He trailed his hand down her stomach and dipped a finger into her heat for a moment until his finger was wet, then teased her clit gently, his mouth nipping at her lips, tasting her, drinking in her soft huffs of breath and the beginnings of whimpers. If she lifted her hips to grind into his hand, he’d pull back and start over, kissing her, soothing his hand over her body until she stopped bucking and held still. After this repeated a few times she was panting and frustrated and she slid her hand between her legs and he watched her for a few long moments, until her breath started to hitch and her moaning became rhythmic, and then he pulled her hand away and held it at her side. She moved her other hand and he chuckled, caught them both in one of his, and held them both away from her. He couldn’t hold his weight up any longer and still touch her, so he changed position and settled between her legs and ran his hand over her upper thigh as it trembled, then lowered his head and licked at her insistently, sliding a finger inside her, a cool invasion that drove her to arch into his mouth, pinching her clit against his mouth plate and then pulling back with a whimper. Again, not pain, but like being shocked, sensation spreading and fading in tendrils. She’d been so close to coming so many times, the feel of him took her fast and hard, and she came with the edges of his finger plates digging into her. He pulled his finger from her and trailed it back up her body, releasing her hands and extending a claw to play with a breast, nipple hard against the cold edge, her breath sucked into her mouth. He moved forward and lifted her thigh, kissing up the inside of her leg to the back of her knee, when she jerked again from being ticklish and he soothed her skin, scratching lightly with his claws, then bent her knee to her chest with his arm hooked under it, and she was caged in by hard and cold, his arm plates digging into the back of her knee, her thigh stretched out in a tight burn, his abdominal plates against her stomach, his mouth on hers again, demanding and hard. What had she thought? Blood and teeth and possession? That. He surged into her and his abdomen and chest dug into her body, his sternum blade pressing the breath out of her. The now-familiar overwhelming singing of her blood pounded at her temples and she arched her neck back, red and black and silver dots behind her eyelids. Panic lit her mind for a bright second and she almost said it. Say the word and he’ll stop. Say the word and you can breathe, you can stretch, you can…then the singing in her blood hit her harder and washed all the thoughts away then it all went black.

Later she woke up and there was…what had he called it…Reverie. Reverie pulling at her, humming in her skin. Her back was pressed to his chest, and he was whispering in her ear “Come back to me, Venri.” She tried to say his name, but it came out a croak and half a question. Her throat was dry, sounding harsh, feeling different, but not painful. His sternum blade was along the line of her spine and she flexed her shoulders to fit to him better. One arm was under her waist and his other hand lifted her hair as he kissed her neck and shivers started again. His hand traced over bruises and red lines on her skin, soothing and gentle. His top leg hooked over her top leg and pulled her leg aside, tangled in his. His hand slid down toward her clit. He said in her ear “Come for me, my Bakan.” She swallowed hard and thought, ‘Bakan? I’m the vengeful spirit? That’s…’ and she lost her thought as his hand played at her and his teeth were at her shoulder and his cock pushed into her, the spasms in her own body pulling him deeper. Her muscles were exhausted and twitching, shudders wracking her, his growl driving her through another orgasm that was a burst of jagged red inside her head. He held her spasming hips against his body, sharp edges of his hips digging into her ass, her spine defined by his chest, words she could no longer understand at her ear. Another steep wave of sensation dragged at her and she was under again, swirling in the black.

Minutes or hours or who knew how long later she'd become aware of herself again, he was still inside her and his arms were wrapped around her, his hand at her breast and his mouth at her ear, and she'd rock in his arms until she fell asleep or blacked out again, exhaustion and satiety dragging her down into dreams where his voice echoed and her body pulsed in response to him.

She'd wake or mostly wake throughout the night, the blur between consciousness and unconscious unclear, his voice at her ear or her skin or her mouth. He'd be gentle, teasing, demanding, punishing, and she'd try to not pass out, and she'd fail.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When she woke up much later, he wasn’t far. He was asleep, his arm draped over her waist.

So apparently his only rule was “try not to die.”

Trying to get out of bed was a lesson in “Ow” in places she didn’t know she had places. Oh Gods, everything hurt. EVERYTHING hurt. She couldn’t walk in a straight line, she could barely breathe without wanting to whimper. In the past she’d had stuff fall on her that was really big. She’d been shot. She’d been beaten up. She’d died. Died. Dying hadn’t hurt this much. That was just in the lung area and then she’d passed out and missed the actual dying part. She couldn’t even remember how many times she’d passed out in the last…hell…6 hours? Oh shit, she wanted to lie down on the floor and embrace the cool tiles against her face, and stay there. Internally she felt like she had a bad sunburn over a bruise and every twist or turn of her body made her feel like crying out. She didn’t. She’d provoked him deliberately. Turians relieve stress with sex. No shit. That had better fucking be one Gods-damned relaxed Turian. 

She dragged herself to the bathroom and almost laughed. Her face wasn't so bad, but there were some bruises and a few scratches. Her hair was in knots, friction rubbing bits of her hair at different angles into bed-hair clouds. Scratches and punctures and bruises were mapped out on her skin.

It was a good thing that she’d learned early on that makeup was a good idea. Nobody saw her bruised and scarred unless she wanted them to. It was better strategy to look like she was more willing to bake someone a cake than beat them up. She could be underestimated and appear unthreatening when she chose. If she needed to intimidate, her mouth would do that for her. It was also very upsetting for hulking, scarred and battle weary Batarians and Vorcha to see her while she was fighting them, without a smear in her mascara or lipstick. She had invested in every last bit of makeup that covered bruises and discoloration and stayed the fuck on her face. Anybody who defined tough as their ideal of whatever it was, got to deal with her ideal, and it was upsetting to them. She liked upsetting people that were trying to kill her. She’d paid to get her Cerberus scars removed. It was a very strategically useful vanity to be able to appear as she wanted to appear in a range from angelic to…well…now…abuse victim. Well, she looked like an abuse victim, but it was neither abuse nor was she regretful in the least. She’d asked a big question and gotten a big answer. She'd earned this. She had the good pain killers and she was going to indulge in them today because…holy Turian sex Gods…OW. Her skin wasn’t as bad as she’d remembered. There had been some punctures, slashes and bite marks that weren’t there. Likely Garrus had thought to apply some Medigel in her sleep. The pain was mostly muscular, but there was some joint strain. He still didn’t have the hang of where she bent or did not bend. He had left one deep bite mark on her shoulder, like signing a painting. She’d leave it. The man was an artist. She suspected if she made it go away, she’d have another one soon anyway.

She took a long hot shower and leaned her face against the tile there, letting the water wash away blood. To her credit, apparently she hadn’t taken it all lying down, so to speak, and there was some blue blood in there as well. Go team! Gods, what did she do? She couldn’t remember. Or had he opened a vein and tried to feed her like a vampire so she could keep her strength up? Ah…don’t laugh. Laughing hurts. She’d never had a sex hangover. She must learn the ways of the sex hangover. Hell, if he used his safe word, she didn’t hear it either. Fuck that, he could have gotten away from her, she was sure of it. She imagined him yelping “krantt! KRANTT!” as he scrambled off the bed and then laughed and winced again. Nope, that is not how that went down. The freaky Turian probably cut himself. No blood on her mouth or under her fingernails, so yeah. Garrus 6532, Shepard 0. Maybe, MAYBE Shepard 1.

The painkillers slowly kicked in and when she started feeling better, she felt a whole LOT better and noticed the thrum of Reverie in her veins, in her head still.

So what did it all mean other than “ow” and “mmm”? She’d shown him she was all in, if not all there, and he’d shown her what? Maybe he’d just shown her that he liked her body and reactions and it wasn’t more complicated than that. Not everyone was as devious as she was. There didn’t need to be layers of meaning.

But there were. He'd given her no words, no rules to twist or break. Just as clear as “leave the bite mark,” words and impressions rushed back to her that she hadn’t been aware were there. Don’t let him hear that she’s imagining him with a Turian woman. Don’t think it. Don’t imagine that he would be better off without her. She wondered how hypnotic Reverie was, because her previous doubts came back with immediate answers in her mind in his voice. She didn’t know if he’d said them or showed her or both. No more doubts, no more worries. He was for her and she was for him. "Never doubt, Venri, that I want you, that I chose you, that with you is where I want to be, that I am for you."

Okay. I get it. I can give that back with both hands. He didn't want her to think she was unworthy of him, she knew. Could she stop thinking it as some point? Maybe. She still had some work to do on acceptance. She knew better than to say it out loud, to him. She'd work on not saying it to herself, if that was what he wanted.

She quietly checked in with EDI. The Geth was dormant, the IFF was being installed, there was no immediate need for her to be anywhere.

She fixed her face and hair and went back to bed. He looked no worse for wear at all. His outstretched wrist had one deliberate slash on it, the source of his blood. He hadn’t fixed it with Medigel. She imagined him working blood rites over her while she was unconscious, explaining smeared blood and fingerprints she’d found on her skin. He’d bound her to him in her sleep with sigils and spells. Garrus was a witch.

She loved her strange, pokey, hypnotic man-witch. So much. 

She slid back into the bed and pressed her spine against his sternum blade, rested her head on his arm and pulled his hand back over her waist. The bite mark was right where he’d see it when he woke.

He stirred only briefly, pulled her ass against him, took a deep breath, nuzzled her hair, pressed his mouth to the back of her head absently and drifted back to sleep.

She drifted back to sleep herself, remembering his voice, listening to him breathe.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He woke slowly, surfacing from dreamless sleep. Her neck was on his arm, her waist under his hand, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, shower scent and her. And him. Bone-deep satisfaction was startled into “Oh, fuck what did I DO?” and he quickly recounted the things he could remember and knew there were things he couldn’t remember. He’d intended to play with her as she’d played with him, but the edge of all that permission had cut deep. He’d expected her to stop him, and she hadn’t. She’d been nothing but yes in response to everything he did, everywhere he pushed her, everywhere he put her, every way he touched her. He'd had a lot of material to work with. All that time he'd wanted her, all those fantasies, all those images. He’d done everything he could think of doing and then thought of a few more on the spot.

She'd lost the ability to speak and he'd taught her his name over and over, taught her to say it against his mouth. He'd watched her face, watched her eyes, as his cock sought inside her, as he found ways to move, the places inside her that brought those exquisite moans to her mouth, as her body shuddered under and around him, as her hands weakly clung to his shoulders. He’d heard his name on her lips in every shade of expression he could pull from her. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever done amid the sheer crashing reality of everything he'd done with her. His possessiveness and pride for this woman overflowed and he should be ashamed of himself, but what he really wanted was a copy of the surveillance in this room so he could distribute it. He wanted to address the Council. He could imagine her talking to the Council as he stood beside her, as she had with Saren, the bite in her voice and the sharp in her words hitting their marks. He could imagine interrupting her, and telling the Councilors that, by the way, this magnificent woman could be brought to forget his name and then be taught to say it again in halts and gasps against his mouth as he interrupted her and asked her to try again. He wasn't sure how this scenario could be brought to pass, but it should happen. And what would she say? She'd probably kiss him on the mandible, say "Thank you, Garrus. The looks on their faces were totally worth it" and then continue. Finally, her calm and acceptance working for him instead of against him. 

He wanted it taught in school.

She'd drawn no blood and he'd drawn his own, to add it to hers, and that had driven him to some of the things he'd forgotten in Reverie. The residue of those actions clung him like lust incense. Possessive. Primal. He'd lost his own words. Should he tell her he had lost consciousness himself there a few times, but woke up before she did? Nah.

And here she was, back in bed, pristine again except for his visibly presented bite mark that he couldn't bring himself to erase, though he'd done his best with the rest of her. His wrist stung still. She hadn't fixed either of them.

He nuzzled her neck until she stirred, and then said "You okay?"

She arched against him and said "Everything's okay with me, Garrus. You okay?"

He said "Never better. Can I get you anything?"

She sighed and said "Nope, I'm good. Had a shower, talked to EDI. I'm really glad that I didn't have an allergic reaction like my tongue going numb permanently. I'd find it hard to be inspiring. 'All rith, guyth, lithen up! We'f goth a menath to thtop!'"

He laughed softly, nuzzled the back of her neck and said against her skin "I could speak for you."

She arched back against him and said "Showoff. Go back to sleep."

So all of this was about being more honest? Sure, Venri. You tell a lovely story about showing our feelings and then as soon as I’ve shown mine, the first chance you have, you’re pretending nothing hurts. It’s who you are. 

Spirits, he loved his crazy, brave, lying woman. So much.


	12. Chapter 12

Meanwhile, in a corridor 

Tali: I never did ask, when did you both decide to…

Garrus: To?

Tali: When did you decide to become a couple?

Shepard: When he drugged me, punched me and told me to shut the fuck up, I knew he was the man for me.

Tali: Fine, don't tell me.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: A House Divided

Garrus

He was not going to admit to her that keeping Legion was a good idea. They’d rewritten heretics, something he couldn’t understand in its implications. Neither did she, he knew, but it was a step toward hopeful.

They’d done all they could do, it was time to wait for the IFF to be installed, and all active agents for ground missions were shoved into the shuttle. That was a lot of people in a shuttle. Since there was nothing else to do she’d called an impromptu shore leave. She’d given people warning, so those who were inclined were more casually dressed. Morim was in a green silk dress. Legion had no choice, of course, but Morim wanted to bring him as her personal Geth because she thought he was adorable and wanted…really wanted…someone to stop her so she could say he was a Spectre Assistant and she was testing a pilot program created by talented Asari robotics specialists in order to infiltrate the Geth. She’d get away with it.

They headed to Ilium, to buy out a room in Eternity and have a final party. Housing was arranged. Morim had spoken to the bartender several times before this, they got along. She’d promised to pay for any damages. Particularly if done by a metallic-plated Krogan. Morim had provided a large hunk of credits up front. She’d asked, and Conrad Verner was nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately Liara was on the ship orbiting Hagalaz, it would have been nice to see her again. 

Morim was giving out the last instructions, before everyone scattered. The room at Eternity would be available to everyone, and a running tab covered by Morim, people were free to do what they wanted to do. 

She yelled over the crowd “Hey! Everyone have fun, that’s an actual order. If your idea of fun is a nap or to get the hell away from me, that's cool. Eternity will be the only base of operations unless someone has an inspiration. Try not to have any destructive inspirations, Grunt!”

All Grunt did was laugh, his slow delivery promising that he’d heard, but didn’t really care. “You shouldn’t have let it slip that you’ll pay for damages, Shepard!”

She said “Yeah, yeah. Planning is not permission! Anyway, I’ll be at Eternity, if anybody wants to talk to me, grab a drink with me or make fun of my dancing. The menace changes, but my incompetence stays the same. Enjoy your evening, meet back at this ridiculously overcrowded shuttle in 24 hours.”

She let everybody else get off first, and the clump of people slowly dispersed and thinned out. 

He and Morim planned to go to Eternity for at least a little while. When they sat down, Morim sat with Garrus on one side and Thane on the other, and Legion hovered uncomfortably close at her shoulder. Morim didn’t seem to notice and when Garrus said “Okay, look, that’s just creepy.” Morim laughed and said “Give the guy a break. Legion, you’re doing just fine.”

Thane said “Siha, I have seen you fight, I can’t imagine you are as poor of a dancer as you pretend.”

Garrus laughed “Oh. You still have some things to learn, Krios.”

Morim said “Take it from the dance veteran. It’s a sad, sad tale, Thane.”

Thane stood and held out a hand formally, one behind his back, in a half bow. “This I must see for myself.”

Morim laughed, took his hand and said “Protect your toes, that’s all I have to say.”

He watched and she was, as promised, truly terrible. Thane actually smiled and he could have sworn almost laughed. Eventually to spare his own toes, Thane lifted her and swung her around so she wasn’t on her feet…or his…for the last quarter of the song. Thane was as graceful as a dancer as Garrus had imagined, and dancing with Morim was fine now. Feeling jealous would have been an insult to her…and to Thane.

When they returned to the table Tali and Jack were laughing and toasting to them, and when they sat back down, Thane said “I must concede. I defer to the more experienced.”

Morim said “You handled that with grace. Thank you. Perhaps if you danced with Tali, you can get the taste of that out of your mouth. She can, in fact, dance.”

Thane extended his hand to Tali, who accepted, and then they managed to restore the honor of the Normandy.

Jack grabbed Jacob’s hand, who shrugged and they managed to do well also. Talented bunch.

There was a resounding crash as Grunt dented the floor, having jumped off a higher balcony.

Morim said “Legion, I can’t see, is he moving?”

Legion said “He is breathing. Vital signs positive.”

Morim said to Garrus “See? I told you he was useful.” Shepard stood up, walked over to Grunt and offered him a hand. He jumped up, hands over his head in a victory pose, shouting "AIR SUPERIORITY!"

She said “That's not what that phrase means, Grunt. C’mon, let’s go talk to the bartender, she’s got some Krogan history you should know.”

Tali asked him to dance next, and he indulged her, and then Jack. He went back to the table to talk for a while. Morim was still engaged at the bar, leaning forward and listening to the bartender’s stories. Aethyta, that was her name. A man had broken out of the crowd, angling his way toward Morim. 

The man was trying to get her attention, but was failing. There was no reason this couldn’t be fun. The guy was very drunk, weaving on his feet, and when verbal distraction didn’t work he leaned into her and grabbed at her elbow, and she just turned and looked at him, not bothered at all.

He decided what the hell and walked up behind him, pushed the guy's head down to the bar, not too hard, and said angrily “Is this guy bothering you, ma’am?” Then he smiled at her.

Morim’s lips twitched and she said “He hadn’t managed to bother me yet. Is he bothering you?”

The guy said “Get your fucking hands off me.” Aethyta rolled her eyes and went back to talking to Grunt.

Morim explained “You probably shouldn’t have touched me. I’m just here with my friends, I’m not interested. Perhaps me ignoring you might have tipped you off to that.”

The guy did not know when to stop and just said “So what, you’re going to fuck the Krogan or the Asari?”

She said “Neither. I’m going to fuck the Turian.”

Garrus nodded.

The guy said “Ew. Lady. You can do better.”

Morim laughed and Garrus let him up and she said “No, I really can’t. Nobody can. Good luck. No hard feelings.”

He rubbed his jaw “Easy for you to say.”

Morim said “Okay, drinks for the rest of the night are on me.” She hooked a thumb at him, nodded to Aethyta, who nodded back.

Garrus decided that was enough socializing, and picked her up and carried her out. She waved over his shoulder to various cheers and heckles. He walked out into the hallway and then stopped after turning the corner "This would be so much more dramatic if I knew where I was going."

She laughed and gave him a combination of "forward, straight, forward, up, are you doing okay, you need a break?" She had no actual idea where she was going either, he realized.

He said "I swear to the Spirits, Shepard, if we stay lost all night you're going to have to fuck a Turian under a desk or in a taxi."

She started to laugh harder and then said "Oh, shit. Legion's following us."

Garrus let her down, maybe not immediately, but eventually, grabbing at every body part that struggled out of his grip. She slapped his hands and said "Obnoxious."

She walked over to Legion, who was several paces behind, his head plates moving awkwardly as she approached.

She said "Legion. Don't you want to stay at the party?"

He was silent for a few moments, and Garrus's heart almost went out to the thing. Almost. Okay, he could see why Shepard liked it.

Legion said quietly "Shepard Commander. Do…" His head gestured toward Garrus briefly "you…need ass…is…tance?"

Garrus started to laugh at his attempt at whispering and confidence and she said "Oh, oh no. Legion, it's okay. Garrus wasn't hurting me. It was…like a joke."

Garrus said "Except that I was serious."

Morim waved her hand at him and Legion kept his attention on him for a moment longer than necessary. Morim said "Garrus wasn't hurting me. Garrus wouldn't hurt me."

Garrus said knowingly "That's not exactly true."

Morim glared at him and waved her hand again. Legion straightened his shoulders as though he were about to make up his own mind on the subject. Morim said "Gah. Okay. To clarify. Garrus would not hurt me in a way that I would not like him to hurt me."

Legion didn't respond, just continued to stare at her.

She said "Legion, do you know where the hotel is? I could use some help here."

Legion said "Assistance is available. Follow me."

Garrus said "At least someone knows where to go."

Legion escorted them to the room, with Morim smiling and making faces. Garrus made a few faces of his own. 

Morim said "Thank you" when they got there, opened the door and when she walked in, Legion followed her. Garrus was careful not to appear overtly threatening, so he didn't shove Legion out the door. He just said "Hey, hey, hey. Occupancy issues."

Morim turned, saw Legion and said "Thank you, Legion. I'd never have found it without you."

Legion said "Multiple sources available on your Omni Tool would have guided you here."

Morim said "Then thank you for sparing me the trouble. Legion, we have accommodations for you. Whatever you want, you have a room even if you don't want one, you can go back to the shuttle, you could go back to the party. You don't have to protect me right now."

Legion said "That is not true." slowly and then said with more confidence "There is always concern for violence statistically."

Garrus said "He's catching on quickly."

Morim thought for a moment and said "Legion, I want everyone to have fun. Is your idea of fun? Guarding my location?"

Legion said "I do not know fun, but I do …" He looked at Garrus.

Morim said "You want to protect me. It's okay. I appreciate it and you wouldn't be on my crew if I didn't need your help. Would it be acceptable to guard the door? Would that suit your purpose?"

Legion nodded.

Morim said "This is like the Normandy, Garrus and I share quarters. You are correct, it is possible that there could be a threat. If that is what you want to do, then you are free to guard the door."

Legion nodded again and then stood by the door.

Garrus said obnoxiously "Nice try. Other side."

Legion looked at him reluctantly, opened the door and went out.

Garrus said testily "That is creepy."

She said "It is not, and he can hear you." She raised her voice and said "Legion, you're not creepy."

Legion said "Creepy is acceptable, Shepard Commander."

Garrus said loudly "The situation, Legion. The situation is creepy."

Morim said "Okay then."

Garrus said "Oh come on, no way. This is not happening."

She said "Why not?"

He said "He can hear us!"

Morim rapped on the door "Legion, you are not to record for outside display or respond to anything happening in this room. Access files regarding organic sex in the meantime if you're curious regarding outlying parameters you may hear. That should keep you busy. Unless we directly ask you for help, you are to accept that we do not require your assistance. Your purpose is to guard, and I appreciate it."

Garrus said "You think that is going to work?"

Legion said "That is going to work."

Morim said "There. Problem solved."

Garrus said "Maybe yours. Is he going to be a permanent fixture?"

She said "Garrus, we might not live more than a week, give the guy a break."

He said "What if he watches all that sex and develops an attachment to you that is even creepier?"

She walked to the door, knocked on it again and said "Legion, you're not creepy. Parameters require Garrus Vakarian and Morim Shepard as sexual partners and no further additions or subtractions." There was silence and then she said "Legion, there's an exception to you assessing level of threat if you suspect I am addressing you directly."

Legion said "Acknowledged."

She then said "You're also not allowed to kill Garrus Vakarian for perceived insults. Which you have heard, and will hear. Review files regarding humor and camaraderie."

Legion said after a moment and almost tiredly "Acknowledged."

Garrus said "Why don't you just say mommy loves you."

Morim glared at him and then said "Mommy loves you, Legion."

Silence. Very quietly “Acknowledged.”

Morim couldn’t keep her cool and just said “He is AWESOME. C’mon, you’ve got to admit it. Some day you will admit it.”

Garrus said "So that's it? He gets to listen?"

She shrugged "Garrus, we've been monitored, pretty much always. Now it bugs you because someone friendly cares enough to make us his top priority?"

Garrus said "Not us. You."

Morim said "Approval is not something I'm accustomed to, I get to indulge in it occasionally. You want him to go back and stand alone in the shuttle? He might die. For me. He might have died before, looking for me. I have my own mission, but his mission has been me for years, you really think something sinister is going on here?"

He knew there was no way he was going to win this one, not after that. If anything he should be able to sympathize with her being his mission. He didn't want to entertain Legion, but he could still entertain himself. If that’s what she wanted…

He lifted her by the waist and positioned her against the door, and when she gasped and started to protest he said “Shhhhh…,” a human sound that meant ‘be quiet.’ It wouldn’t be translated quite the same way, if he’d said 'be quiet' in Turian. He was adapting to all sorts of human things he liked. He let his hands roam over her, gliding over green silk.

She said "There is a bed…right over there." It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet, either.

He said "I noticed. I also noticed there's a sentry outside our door and he can hear quite a bit. So shhhh." He lowered his mouth to her throat as he said it, blowing the sound out over her skin.

She said "You are contributing to the delinquency of a…a…not a minor…crap." He smiled against her skin at her being flustered by his hands and mouth. That’s something he could sympathize with as well.

He chuckled and said "He's a Geth. We usually kill them. If you want him to experience humanity, I can let him experience humanity. I was the one that suggested you be quiet. He's your delinquent, not mine." His hand traveled from her waist, up to her breast, kneading her, a finger tracing along the edge of the neckline.

She said in a strangled, but definitely quiet voice "Point made, let's just…move to the bed."

He said quietly "Send your enamored sentry away." His mouth moved along her jawline, to her ear.

She sighed and then said quietly, with humor "So, be quiet or you assault me?"

He said "No. Be quiet or I stop assaulting you." He held his hands still momentarily and she made a sound of frustration.

She smiled and said “You think I can’t relocate and then get you to start again?” He gathered her hands in his and then raised them both over her head, her wrists in one hand.

He said "Sure you could, but I might be disappointed. If we do it your way and you want to be loud, I can make you say things, Venri. It will take a little while, but I can make you say whatever I want. Do you want to do it that way? I’ve got a little while. I’m on shore leave. You want me to use my imagination? You want to risk it or do you want to…” he said "shhhhhh" again, against her skin.

His answer was silence. Excellent. I win. He realized immediately that he wanted to make noise himself as she arched her back, pushing her breast into his hand. She brought one of her legs up, kicking off her shoe and resting her heel in his spur, her toes rubbing along the back. She used her leg to pull him closer. The only sound was breathing, hard breathing. Teasing flared into full blown lust and he wanted to do too many things at once. He wanted her hands on his body, but he wanted to hold her still. If he let her go, he wouldn’t be able to watch her face, hold her there and watch her face. He wanted to watch her face while she tried not to moan. With his hand still at her breast, her head was tilted back, eyes closed, lip between her teeth. He wanted to see her eyes. He leaned in to her ear, bit at her earlobe, breathed into her ear for a few moments before he said “Open your eyes, Venri. Keep them open. Look at me.” Her wrists were twisting in his hands. Not to break away, just to feel his palm on her skin.

He moved back to watch her face, green eyes meeting his, her breathing hard through her nose. So beautiful, she was so beautiful. She watched him as he watched her, and his hand slid down green silk to raise the hem, cup his hand over the scrap of silk underwear and brush his hand against her until he felt the cloth get damp. He glanced down momentarily to see that her nipples were hard points under the silk, and she swallowed hard. He took one of his fingers and slipped under the silk, twisting his finger into her and using another finger to press at her clit through the fabric. She drew breath in a quick stutter, fast little in-breaths through her nose before she breathed out, long and strained. He looked into her eyes with her brows drawn together, beseeching. She was an expression of desire in green. He savored every expression that was for him. He swallowed hard himself, aching and hungry, thirsty for her. He withdrew his finger and twisted into her again, pressing at her clit in circles, fast and then slow, hard until she pulled back and then gentle until she arched into his hand. He had no sound to gauge her, but her face, her shoulders, her breathing were enough. He had to suppress every urge to growl, to purr, to say her name, to tear his eyes from her and bite at her, taste her. She clenched around his finger in faster and harder rhythm. He would never get enough of this, the fact that touching her did this to her, did this for her. That mountaintop pinnacle of orgasm was a demonstration of her body’s response and he drank in her eyes, her skin, her scent and her texture. He would fall asleep wanting her, he would wake wanting her, everything he thought would work its way to her. 

She came in flutters and shudders and silent gasps, but she stayed quiet. Her eyes blinked and rolled back, but she kept them open. He pulled his hand from her and put his hand on her hip, extended a claw and curved it under the fabric, sliced it off and pulled it aside. He released his cock from his pants and lifted her off the ground with his hand, and her other heel came to rest on his other spur as he drove into her, lowering her hands inch by slow inch and angling his hips to take her weight on his thighs, until he was deep, seated within her, home. She was so quiet as she trembled and shook, swallowing down whimpers. He put his hand around her throat, claws digging in enough to draw points of blood, feeling her try to keep it all inside, to make no sound. Reverie hummed along his nerves and he drank in her eyes, drank in her scent, drank in the feel of her body around him. He watched her eyes as he saw Reverie pull her entirely out of her own intent, out of his will. She struggled to stay conscious, she struggled to meet his eyes, her throat and her body convulsed and she went limp, his hand so tight around her wrists that she didn’t move other than her head falling forward.

He leaned back until her weight was on his chest. He let her hands go and then looped her arms around his shoulders. He placed his hands under her ass, lifted her legs free of his spurs and then carried her to the bed. He wasn’t going to leave her body, not tonight, not with her thinking they weren’t going to live more than a week. He got into bed and pulled covers over her, his head propped on pillows and her head on his chest. He lowered his mouth to the top of her head and breathed her in, staying awake while she slept, slipping into that timeless sense of connection that sustained him more than sleep. One hand rested at the small of her back and one hand in her hair as she snuggled closer in her sleep and pressed her lips against his chest, saying his name in a way that made him want to bundle her away and hide her somewhere safe.

She talked in her sleep, something he hadn’t told her yet. He wondered if he ever would. He didn't know if she knew herself. She would talk in her sleep, her mind unwinding skeins of the uncharted. Some of her thoughts were silly, some nonsensical, some touching, and some terrifying. She had nightmares. She didn't speak of them. He suspected she did remember them, because she was perceptive enough to catch his gently questioning looks and be quick to reassure him with a smile and a distraction. She was excellent at distraction. He'd had enough of his own nightmares to understand. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It was perhaps best to not take full ownership. Too hard to tell what was a real concern and what was an imagined issue rising like a ghost, something made real by speaking that would otherwise cease to exist when eyes opened. He'd prefer that his own dreams weren't analyzed as literal. When she'd been shot, when he'd watched over her she'd had nightmares. It was understandable, she had been in pain. She'd called out names. Ashley he knew. Other names he'd had to look up. Her career was documented well enough that he'd been able to track down the names she'd been calling. She'd been calling them out clearly for the time he had known her, possibly much longer than that. This was where her pain unraveled, when her formidable mind shut down and she was at the mercy of images and memories that still haunted her, maybe always would. A lengthening litany of names and choices she couldn't take back. 

He had become fiercely territorial of her sleep time, wanted to watch over her when she had no defense from her own mind digging in its claws. His voice had calmed her when she had been shot. Now there was a direct relationship between how much sleep she got and how close she was to him.

For their first nights together, concerns about literally drugging her into unconsciousness had made him worried that he was being selfish or controlling by remaining joined. He'd reluctantly pulled from her to give her back to herself, and she had not liked that at all. She didn’t like it if she was awake, and would dramatically whimper. She reacted more viscerally if she were asleep. She'd called his name as though he were one of the lost. He'd wake her with slow touches and murmurs and she'd cling to him as though he weren’t real. He couldn’t bring Ashley back, he couldn’t undo the past, but he could do his best to be there when she spoke his name, in need, in fear, when she said ‘please don’t leave me’ and held onto him in inconsolable desperation. He would be there for that, every time, and send her back to sleep knowing he would never leave her alone if he could do something about it. She defied all names he'd given her, this entirely new woman, shorn of all pretense and wit. She would remain nameless, this woman who wanted to be carried away and hidden, kept safe by him, this woman who wanted ever-touching enough to demand it rather than accept losing it. She was made of secrets and longing. When she spoke he simply addressed her as 'love,' which was also the only endearment she used for him.

'Garrus?'

'Yes, love?'

'There's eezo in the tree.'

'Okay.'

'We need eezo.'

'I'll bring it to you, love.'

'Mmm.'

He wondered if this had been what happened to her mind after being dead for however long before she regained sentience. Had she been trapped in nightmares with no escape? Were the dead the only company she had when she was asleep? She had been one of them. She had a connection to the dead where once again, he couldn’t follow. She was always seeking something or someone, someone lost, if she slept on her own. She never talked about it, maintaining lightly that she had been dead, she didn't remember. She wanted to deal with reality, not metaphysics. Too many questions about her state of mind made her impatient. Too many questions sometimes meant any question at all. She would talk about herself only at whim, not at urging. In the oddest moments she would pour out a story either in her sleep or awake and he needed to be there to hear it.

The difference between Turian and human had set him on the wrong course. He’d expected her to tell him everything she needed, help him get it for her, but that was not how she was built. She would opt to do without. She would opt to do without anything as a training exercise or a circumstantial necessity. Do without food, do without water, do without love, do without rest, do without the right to expect him to be there for her. She was willing to do without him if that’s what he wanted. When he pulled his body from hers to see if that was what she wanted, she’d accepted it as something he wanted. No questions, no blame. He’d felt like shaking her until she rattled again, when he realized. Then he’d run up against her state of mind and the way she answered or did not answer questions. She didn’t know and couldn’t tell him. She wasn’t withholding, it was the result of having had such a long held habit of self denial that it was indistinguishable from personality and person.

He'd come to realize she was chronically exhausted and unable to rest at will. It was hard for her to fall asleep at all, she easily woke at any sound and her meager sleep was interrupted by nightmares. There were few physical signs due to her application of makeup, and red eyes could also be cosmetically altered. Odd that he could smell lack of sleep, but he could. Exhaustion on her was like a hint of ozone and chlorine, something sharp and acrid, as though her cybernetics and cells were burning out and subtle smoke rose from her pores. He'd had to check it against reality before he could confirm it, because even exhausted she could rally enough adrenaline to energize a room. Over time he'd come to see the difference between adrenaline and sufficient sleep. He had yet to see her get sufficient sleep. Too many years of deprivation. He had too many questions to ask, because he hadn't been this close to her before, not on a normal day. Was this as it has always been, was it new, could he help more than he was already helping?

Thinking of metaphysics and the dead made him yearn for the first time that there was an afterlife, and that he would be able to find her in it. Whatever deity needed to be bribed or convinced or killed to accomplish that “No, you do not understand, I am for her, she needs me.”

She needs me.

‘Garrus?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Garrus.’

‘Yes, love.’

‘Garrus.’

She stirred briefly, pressing her lips again to his plates, her arms wrapped around him, squeezing hard until she relaxed again into sleep, her last calling of his name an affirmation, not a question. Call and response.

He needed less sleep than she did, but he thought maybe he’d try, certain in this moment at least that she wouldn’t suffer from his absence. If she spoke again, it would wake him.

Both of their Omnitools lit up shortly after. He saw the notification before she did, and he brought his hands to her face to lift her eyes to his. “Venri, you need to wake up. Something’s happened on the Normandy.”


	13. Chapter 13

Timeline: Stop the collectors: Use Omega 4 Relay

Shepard

She'd been walking the spaces that were now empty on the Normandy since finding out all of her people were gone. Everybody was gone except for Joker, unless they had been in that shuttle. Everyone was gone. She knew all of their names. She'd gotten to know everyone on her ship, as much as they would let her know. She'd seen pictures of homes, kids, loved ones, parents… She’d heard about favorite meals and hobbies and quirks. Bethany didn't like Blasto vids. Aasir had…has…a son at home with his wife on Earth. His son's name was Muhammad and he was just now missing his two front teeth.

The idea of having to write letters to everyone loved, everyone left behind, drove her into the empty spaces of the ship that were always silent. The shuttle bay. Nobody was here. She rarely came down here unless it was in preparation for a mission. Consider this preparation for the next mission. Would it have gone differently had she been here? She didn't know. It was nice to think heroic ideas of how she would have saved everyone, but more realistically, she didn't know. Too many variables to calculate. She also had a deep need to save everyone, and that made the idea of being a savior unreliable, wishful thinking. Worst case, she’d have been caught in her sleep, unaware, or she’d have taken a stand that got more people killed, resulting in her being dead also. Right now from Joker’s and EDI’s accounts, it was possible that they were still alive. Taken, not killed. She was still alive and she was very angry, but worst case was the best to consider, because it tamped down all those ideas people foist on her, that she's stronger than she is, that fate somehow favors her. She'd seen no evidence of either of those things. She'd been worried about Legion and it was the IFF that was the problem. If the Illusive Man led them this way and the IFF and the relay were traps…and he was indoctrinated… maybe he’d brought her back to be turned into a thing like Harbinger after a bit of field testing. Not likely, but a possibility. Fuck it, it’s not like she was going to stop now. She was going. She was going and she was going to get her people back. Trap or not, she was going in. Reality beckoned.

The shuttle bay doors were segmented metal, sheets over sheets over joints. Sturdy enough to keep the emptiness of space out, sturdy enough for her. She started to punch at the metal joints, not hard enough to break bones, but hard enough to feel that intent, feel the need to hit something very hard, feel the skin break, feel the blood. Not to lose her temper entirely, not to blast a hole through these doors like she could, like she shouldn't, just enough to siphon out a trickle of that unplumbed anger, gauge the depth of it. Imagine those two front teeth as she considered the path in front of her. Just for a little while. Just her and her intent against the unyielding. 

The world narrowed to the pounding of her own heart, the sound of her harsh breathing and splashes of red dripping down the metal. 

She heard Garrus say abruptly "What the fuck did that door ever do to you?"

She wasn't done punching and she didn’t want to stop. She assumed he’d interrupted her verbally and loudly and hadn’t touched her because that would have been a bad idea. She would have hit him, she knew it. He understood bad tempers. She loved that he was so smart. She loved that man so very much. Admiration spilled through her system like cream into coffee, splashing up and lightening in billows. In this state she was like a predator pulled from her kill, lightened and loving or not. She turned, wiped the sweat from her face with her hand and realized she was spreading the sting of blood there instead. It was that kind of day. She left it and said mildly "It was just in my way. I'm not done expressing how irritated I am with it, so if you'll just leave me alone, I can get it out of my system, how much this door bothers me."

Garrus said casually "You are scaring the crap out of the kids, you know. They had to come get me, I'm not saying who, but nobody else was going to walk in on you."

She said carefully "Good. That's the way it should probably be. Come on, Garrus, this can't be too difficult to figure out. I'm very, very angry and when I see red, I like to see red. It’s better if it’s my red because then nobody else gets hurt and I don’t have to feel bad.” She held up her hands in postured fists and then said “It’s easily fixed with Medigel."

Garrus paused for a moment, looked at her hands and then the blood spattered on the door and said thoughtfully "I occasionally like to see blue."

She said "Then go punch your own fucking door, this one's mine."

He said "If you're not careful, people will think you're not rational." It wasn’t unkind. He was worried about her.

She snorted and tried to reassure him "People can go fuck off. I'll be fine when it's time for me to be fine. Right now I'm taking the time to not be fine. This is how I do it. This isn’t some of that crap about how emotion is always a drawback, is it? I got enough of that from most of my instructors, and they were full of shit. Emotion is just fine. Sometimes I’ve got a lot of it and I need to process. Some things I process by hitting other things."

He shrugged and said quietly "Okay. Let's process together."

She didn’t want to hurt him. She said "Remember you said you wouldn't spar with me because I'd kick the crap out of you while you were pulling punches? I'd go with that instinct. The door doesn't break. That's why it's an excellent target and you aren't." 

He shrugged again and said "You also said I could break you in half. If you’re right and you’re not out of control, I’m perfectly safe. If you’re wrong, I get a broken something and Dr. Chakwas fixes it. Educational either way."

She responded with frustration "This isn’t really about safety. Don’t you think we should be focused on an actual problem? You're not angry at me, I'm not angry at you, let's just not be angry at each other."

He said with a laugh and a thread of taunt “An actual problem like a door?” 

She rolled her neck and sighed. All right. He was stressed too. This is how she did it, that’s how he did it. He walked forward and his stance and body language had transformed. He had a particular way of moving his head that even without a change of expression could move from neutral to menacing just because of the way his face was built. He truly was scary. No doubt. She could appreciate that in her current state of mind. Something about the way he moved meant she wasn’t taking her eyes off of him. She sighed again and waited for it, then held out a hand and gestured for him to continue. He indulged her and said “Oh, come on, you haven’t wondered? I have.”

All right. If you say so. She smiled. Not a nice smile. She matched his tone. “I might have. I told you I had instincts.”

He said softly “Then let’s just give it a try. You see red, I’ll see blue, we’ll see what happens.”

It was a shame she couldn’t actually lick his voice. He was thoroughly, entirely distracting. Maybe being distracted from punching a door wasn't such a bad thing. Okay, let’s play. What are the rules? She scoffed “You don’t have your rifle. I could kill you from here.”

He said mildly “All right then, handicap. You don’t use biotics, I don’t use my rifle.”

She said “So I get to go hand to hand with the Turian who was tied with the highest rated hand to hand specialist on his ship. Why the hell do you want to pick on me? I was just standing here.”

He said “Bleeding. You were standing there bleeding. So if you want to hit something, let’s hit something.”

She said, just to make the obvious clear “Garrus, you’re huge. I’m just a lowly human.” 

He stepped forward, tossing his gauntlets to the side so his hands were bare. “I’m not hearing no.”

She sighed. He’d heard her say no, at least twice. He didn’t want to hear it. All right, give him what he wants. Even he isn’t immune to wanting to take a shot at Commander Shepard. Maybe that wasn't fair and it wasn't about Shepard, it was just about her. She'd tried to pull him out of his own anger death spiral. This wasn't the same but it was close enough to sympathize. He sought her out the way she sought him out. She could tell him no, right now, a direct no. So don't feel sorry for yourself, Shepard. You have all the power you need. If you're so sure this is about command, say no. Say no or shut up about his motives. Okay then. So he's right and it would be educational. And you wouldn’t be alone.

She waited until he started to move, keeping pace, making sure to be out of his way when he got wherever he was going. If he was going to fight, if he was going to insist, then all right. She said “Any more rules, or do you just want to break my neck and get it over with?”

He gestured at her hands “Same as yours, no broken bones, but blood is okay. No more than what you’ve already got going from one particular wound.” He added indulgently “I won’t use claws or teeth.”

She said “You’re taking all the fun out of it already.” He didn’t respond and she knew he wouldn’t give up on this. She said “All right, Vakarian. That works for me. Just remember, I'm not as flexible as you think I am."

He said thoughtfully “I’ll keep it in mind. If I bend you the wrong way, you’ll let me know?”

She said “I’ll try, but a snap or a scream might come first. When is this charade over, so I can go back to my door?” She knew he wouldn’t let her go back to her door.

He shrugged. He knew he wasn’t letting her go back to her door too. He said calmly “Three out of five falls should be fine.”

She said “All right then. I’m ready when you are.”

He made a few feint jabs and she observed his feet without directing her vision there. She wouldn't telegraph her moves by focusing and he wasn't allowed to see what she was planning. She worked on establishing his reach, which was considerable. She kept backing away from that projected sphere, plenty of room, and he couldn’t get her boxed in here with this much space if she kept her peripheral vision in good shape. She kept him in front of her and enough room around her at any one time to change direction if needed. She tried to calculate his stride, his reach and what happened when he leaned and bent, creating a huge zone of potential contact around him. She factored in what would happen if he kicked, making it an even larger zone as far as reach went. Great. This was really going to suck. She set her jaw and concentrated on staying out of his reach, moving from the calculation of that zone to the specifics. Which hand did he favor? The right. What was his style like? His style was terrifying, that’s what it was like. She hadn’t seen him kick yet, but he might. She hadn’t seen him do all that much hand to hand, and when he had, she’d invariably been in trouble herself, so she hadn’t gotten a chance to study him. As far as that went, he was pretty. He was beautiful. He was lethal. Thus the sucking. She kept this up until he started to complain “This isn’t a running away competition, Shepard. If you thought it was, I concede, you win.”

She said “Just trying to tire you out. I cheat.”

Okay, commence sucking. She continued to back away until she felt he was in the right position, turned away from where she intended to go. She sped around that zone of contact, did a sprint that would have been so much better if she could boost it with biotics, but she didn’t, and got close enough to him to brush her knuckles over the side of his neck. She said “one” before he adjusted to her position and tackled her. He was really, really fast. There wasn’t too much force in the fall, but enough so that she had to make sure to roll her shoulders and arms to absorb the blow so her breath wasn’t knocked entirely out of her. Her head rebounded against the metal plating and a few stars swam through her vision, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Yet. It wasn’t the end of the world yet. Fuck. 

He stood, offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. He said “You were a little premature. One fall…to me.”

She nodded and said with feigned grumpiness “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. I can count.”

He said with condescension “Just making sure. No head trauma?”

She huffed in dismissal “You wish. Hard head. Next round.”

For this whole thing to work she was going to have to actually take him down at least twice, to give herself time. Start now and hope like hell you can get to two in the next four rounds. He’d done most of his testing and he was going to get faster. She wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t overconfident, but although she’d warned him that she was essentially ready to cheat, he kept to a fairly formal inside-the-ring training stance. She was never going to win if she played that game, so she had to get him to overextend, get his center of gravity beyond the point that he could recover it easily. She was going to have to get him to lunge at her. That meant getting closer than she’d like and giving him more opportunities to hit her. She let him hit her and then moved out of range, blocking what she could, but taking some hits she couldn't block to the shoulders and chest. Fortunately he didn’t aim for her face. She gave up on blocking because the force was going to mean she lost the use of her upper arms soon. Pain wasn’t a problem, though it wasn’t fun, but hitting a crucial nerve and losing strength and going numb would be bad. When his body was in a position that looked like the best she was going to get, she faked a stagger back and got him to lunge at her enough so she could plant her feet, grab his hand and drop to her knees, pivot and pull him forward and to the side with all her strength, which was barely enough. He didn’t exactly go sprawling, but she helped him along his way by pushing down and forward on his back, saying “two.” Good thing his knees had plating. Looks like that hurt. She said in obnoxious tones “I’m not actually going to plant my foot on your ass, so let’s just call that a fall.”

He laughed, stood up and said “You are such a cheater.”

She made a smirk face and said “I told you that. Way to catch on.”

With a nod he was ready for round three and she was short on ideas. He was a bit slower, and more conservative. It was not going to be easy, it might be impossible, to pull him out of that stance. There was no way he was getting tired before she was exhausted. If she hadn’t had all the Cerberus crap in her body, she would have just stood there wrenching her wrists and he wouldn’t have budged on that last fall. Round three and she was nearly winded and had trouble pacing her breathing. How long had she been beating on a door? Longer than she thought based on the results to her stamina. He was doing less jabbing and had figured out he’d do better if he grabbed her, which was true, because he could throw her outright onto the floor. Grappling would lead to doom. There was no way to wear him down through hitting him, because it would just hurt her hands. For every hit she could land, he could get in two. It wouldn’t hurt his hands. She considered sliding in and taking his feet out, but that would likely backfire. Technically she’d fall before he did and she didn’t want to risk wrenching his joints. Limping to the Collectors would be bad. Watching him she thought maybe a hip throw. She watched for his pattern of reaching and when it seemed most likely in her favor and his legs in the right place, she let him grab her shoulders. When he pulled her in she was nearly yanked off her feet, but she launched at an angle that allowed her to get behind his hip in a sidestep, his own arms providing the momentum. She got her hip under the back of his upper thigh, her hand around his waist. She crouched down, lifted with her hips, lifted with her arm and then wheeled him over and he was off his feet. She tried to angle his fall so his fringe wasn’t injured, but he still took it pretty hard on the outside shoulder. Her other hand was at his throat as a fist when he landed. Okay. Two falls by the rules. Hard…or mostly hard part’s done. One more. She smiled and extended her hand, and he took it, and she absolutely could not pull him up. She said “Really? You won’t even let me help you u-” and he yanked her down with him and kissed her, one hand moving at the back of her head and one hand squeezing at her ass. The kiss made her dizzy, she was already breathing hard. It would be lovely if this was over. She dedicated herself to the kiss happily, hoping that two out of three was good enough, but then he smacked her ass, picked her up with him, put her on her feet and said “Round four!” enthusiastically.

She tilted a little until she got her balance back, reluctantly, and said “I think that’s cheating.”

He sounded hurt as he looked down at her from a superior angle and said “Absolutely not. I know you have difficulty concentrating if I’m not around.” He sighed with dramatic disappointment. “I’m trying to help.”

She laughed and said “So…full of shit. Okay. Round four.” This was, in fact, an excellent distraction. He knew it. She knew that emotion didn’t hamper her from being pragmatic, and that she could shift gears quickly, but he should learn that if he was going to be around for as long as he wanted to be around. If they were lucky enough to have that much time. While she was busy thinking, he nodded to begin the round, then went from motionless to rushing her and she couldn’t get out of the way. She attempted an undignified scramble back, but it was too late for that. He had her by the waist with her arms trapped. He stopped their forward motion and she had a sudden dropping vertigo. With exquisite balance and control he repositioned her horizontally and put her on the ground with his hand cradling her head. She couldn’t do anything with her legs, she would have just flailed and hit nothing, and his balance was too good to throw off that way. Her lungs were ready to give out entirely and her laughing was harsh and lending itself to coughing when he pressed his mouth to her forehead and said “Two.”

She took in deep gulps of air and then said “Garrus, I’m staying down, you win. Come on. I didn’t want to do this in the first place. We’ll assume you just…did that again. Fuck.”

He got down on the floor beside her, his hand still under her head. He said “You’re really fine.” It was a statement.

She nodded “I’m really fine.”

He said “What’s with the counting?”

She said “Oh…well, most of my reflexes now are not for hurting people or getting them to fall, but for killing them. So ‘one’ was for the side of your neck, and if I’d hit there hard enough I would have killed you. Two was for your back, if I’d punched down as you were going by, I would have taken out a nerve cluster and enough organs to paralyze you and kill you painfully, if not then, then at least when you were on the ground unable to get back up. I just marked the spots on you in blood. I don’t spar with people in general because I’m usually set to kill. I don’t really like blunting those edges because I need them often, but you insisted. I was going to go for your waist for the last one, because you guys have some funky things going on there with your spine and a spot where I could sever it if I got the right angle, but seriously, I don’t care anymore. I’m tired, I just want to stay here and remember how to breathe. You win. If I were going to kill you I’d go for the throat every time. If I had to. Really I'd rather just shoot you from range. In your sleep, ideally. The rest is a pain in the ass.”

He smiled and stroked her hair off her forehead “You’ve trained with a Turian?”

She said “Yeah, several. You haven’t trained with a human, but you don’t need to. I needed to. I’ve wheedled training favors from a lot of species in order to stay alive and in good form. I haven’t bothered with a Volus, but I’m assuming I could just pop them. I cheat. I'm not fair. I don't fight fair and I won't fight fair.”

He said “You figuring out how to not kill me is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Bakan.”

She laughed and it sounded like a bark “Oh…come on now, don’t reward failure.” She turned her head to look at him and his eyes had the warmth of blue suns. She swallowed, hard, once. Vertigo, again. Here she was getting her crew kidnapped, failing to get three throws or even try for a third, and he looked at her as though she were the most precious thing in creation. How she deserved him at all, she will never know, but she would take his word for it.

He said "If you're trying to exhibit failure, you're going about it entirely the wrong way."

His eyes, his voice, her shaky state…she said "Turian foreplay is going to kill me." She twisted her head sideways, closed her eyes and played dead, tongue out.

He laughed, stood up and drew her to her feet, then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, bringing a gut-squooshing "oof" to her lips. She decided to go with it, imagining he'd be more embarrassed if they ran into other people than she would be. He went to the elevator and brought her up to their quarters, then set her down on her feet and said "Go take a shower. I'm going to go get a shower of my own, then I'll get some food for us and I'll bring a bottle of something."

She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. He was the only solid thing she could feel, she wanted to hold on. She was tired, she was hungry, but she wasn't angry any more. She was focused. She'd take out her anger soon, she'd get them back. They would get them back. She had him, she had a team, she was alive, and she could kiss him. She said "Thank you" against his mouth and then turned to go do the reasonable thing he'd asked her to do. He didn't ask what the thank you was for, and if he had, she'd have said…everything.

She peeled her clothes off to reveal lots and lots of bruises. Turian shaped bruises on her shoulders, her arms, one new across her stomach. Oof. He’d landed so many strikes. That was a good man to have on your side. She considered that she might not live long enough to let these bruises heal. She was going to honor the bruise today and not cover them up. They might be with her for as long as she was alive, and she was oddly proud of them. Proof that despite her obvious fragility, she could take a hit. It was also oddly romantic, pulling her out of despair by beating the crap out of her. She was a very strange person, this was obvious. He understood her, and that was a miracle. She looked tired, small, battered and pale. This weary, worn and wary child was going to kick some ass tomorrow.

She took a long shower, but no pain killers. If it was going to hurt, it was going to hurt. She left her hair wet, no makeup, and threw on a pair of underwear and a long T-shirt. She would have liked her old ripped up shirt from N7 training, but that was a lifetime ago. Her belongings had been either disposed of or dispersed. She’d had bruises like this a lot in the past. At least now her life was her own, her command was her own. She had the basics, and she had love. Her love was getting dinner. She sat down to wait, then decided to lie down on the couch for a moment and rest her eyes.

She woke to Garrus stroking her arm. She opened her eyes to see his face as he sat on the floor facing her. She still had to look up. She smiled and said a lazy “Hey.”

He said softly, as though she were still sleeping "Hey, I brought wine, best I could afford on a vigilante's salary."

Dinner was on the table, and the bottle, too. She smiled “Oooh. Mashed potatoes. They’re instant, he really can’t fuck them up. Someday I’m going to have my own kitchen.” She gestured to a cabinet and he got a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey out and put it next to the wine bottle. He poured out a shot for her and a glass for him, he handed her the shot glass and she downed it. She clicked the empty shot glass against his wine glass and then put it down on the table upside down.

He got the mashed potatoes and fed her a spoonful. She said “Oh, those are terrible. Too much salt. How is that possible?” She made a face.

He sighed and said “They look pretty awful and smell worse, but this is the only thing you will even consider eating, so unless…” She gestured to the cabinet again and he rummaged for a little while and then brought out a box of cookies.

She reached out and he held the box back, opened it and said “Are you kidding me? These are even worse.”

She gestured and he passed them over and she said “You have no respect for human things, you know. It hurts my feelings.” She munched happily and figured cookies and whiskey, could do worse for a last meal. 

He said “Because eventually I’m hoping you’ll see things my way. See, if you were a Turian I'd be complimenting your waist, or your fringe, so…your…uh, hair….looks good…and your waist is…very supportive."

She almost coughed out her cookie and then giggled “Sweet talker. I mean…Suntkan talker. You’re…really bad at this. We never really did the courtship thing, did we? We jumped straight to blood and bond. I am not complaining, but I know less about you than I’d like. We haven’t had much time for a cultural exchange.” She thought a moment and said “If you were human, I’d be complimenting you on your shoulders or your wit, so I’m in luck there.” She imitated his tone “Your…uh…shoulders…are…blocking the light, and your wit…is… all there.”

He held up a finger and then mimicked getting an idea and went over to the speaker system and put on the most Godsawful music she’d ever heard.

He gestured victory and she said “Oh…oh no, turn that off. Turn It Off. Garrus. That’s a crime.”

He fake fumbled turning it off and then said “Crap. That was human music, doesn’t it all sound like that?"

She stood and shooed him out of the way, then chose a playlist of classical and instrumental. She said “This, love. This is what human music sounds like. Violins require five fingers.” She looked at him in disapproval and said “How could cookies smell wrong?” She marched back over, ignoring that he pinched her ass on the way by. She got another shot.

He sat down next to her and traced an extended talon around the edge of one of the bruises on the side of her upper arm. He said “So…you got everything you want and here I am, you without a fringe or a proper waist and I am just going to have to…what, make do?”

She tilted her head and said “You could try to go find another partner on this ship that suits your preferences, but you’ll be disappointed when I kill you both.”

He deadpanned “Make do it is.”

She said “Good call.”

He tilted his head and said “Do you get jealous?”

She thought and said “You’ve never given me a reason to be jealous. Not one. You don’t look at other women, you don’t touch other women unless they ask you to. I suppose at the Turian reception, that was the first and maybe only taste I had of it, but I didn’t own it yet. Or, let me say, I didn’t own you yet. If…if…big if. I’ve had lovers who shared other partners and I haven’t been jealous. But…I do know if you looked at another woman the way you look at me…something would break. Something important. Something I need, like my spine. Yes, I’d be jealous.” She thought “But it would be quiet. A switch would turn somewhere, and I’d be closed off. I’d walk just as straight, even without a spine, and only I would know it was gone. Maybe you’d know.” She nudged him “I walk funny around you.” She looked at him and said “Do you get jealous?”

He said “I didn’t, until I met you. You’ve given me no reason, but I had been trying to figure out my reaction if you had. If you favored someone else it would only be temporary. Then I’d kill them and I wouldn’t need to be jealous anymore.”

She nudged him again and said “I would have been willing to let you go be happy with a better woman.”

He nudged her back “Considering there isn’t one, that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? Murder. It’s the only way. Maybe it’s a Turian thing. Seems like a human conscience is a one-way ticket to duuuumb.”

She said “What did you dream of, as a young Turian?”

He said “Well, it’s been a while. I wanted to make my family proud. I loved guns. I liked the idea of catching the bad guy.”

She said “So you kept all the things you wanted. If your family isn't proud of you, you deserve better. Only you combined two and three and now you shoot the bad guy.”

He said “Unless you stop me.”

She said “So let’s hear it for being where we want to be. Wherever we started, I’m glad we’re here.” She reached for another cookie and he reached for her wrist and held her arm up, the underside was patterned with large bruises.

He said “You have stripes. Is this from today? I did this?”

She held both arms up and said “You did that. You insisted on doing that.”

He said “You didn’t even flinch. Why the hell didn’t you stop me?”

She said “You wanted to know what it would be like, that’s what it’s like. I’m squishy, I bruise, I’m easily lacerated. You also happen to have a bad temper, I don’t know if anybody’s ever told you that. It was educational.”

He said “You took painkillers?”

She said “No. Going natural this evening.” She looked at his face and said “You’re also the best painkiller I know.”

He tilted his head down and said “Venri, I’m sorry.”

She held up a hand and said intently “Don’t be. I’m afraid I don’t want to tell you no. I’d rather be bruised and with you, than un-bruised without you. It was more fun to be hit by you than for me to hit a door. It refocused me. I would have been focused by tomorrow either way, but you got me there faster and I can enjoy my evening.”

He shook his head and said “I have a bad temper and you’re an idiot. Maybe we do deserve each other. Are you finished eating?”

She raised a brow and said skeptically “Why, do I need my strength?”

He said “You can have mine. Yes or no?”

She said “Yes, I’m done.”

He held up a hand, rejecting her answer and said “You don’t even know if you’re hungry, do you?”

She said “Why ask me questions if you know the answers?”

He said “To gauge how clueless you are.”

She said “So that would be a lot, then, huh?” and shrugged. She'd rather argue with him than eat. She'd rather argue with him than do most things.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up and said “I’m going to have to be more specific, aren’t I? On a scale of 1-10, how much do those bruises hurt?”

She said “Four. Maybe. Fading. I heal fast. Plus whisky.”

He said “And I’m your chosen pain killer?”

She said “Please?”

He traced the line of her lip and said “You’re like a toddler, half the time you need a nap and you need to eat. How do you manage?”

She licked at his finger and nibbled on the end of it and said “I don’t feel like a toddler.”

He smiled and said “No, no you don’t. Any final words before you lose your mind?”

She said “Let’s not die tomorrow.”

He said “If you die, you haven't seen bad temper yet. You'll be very sorry if I find you in the afterlife slacking.”

She said “What should I say? You can make me say anything you want anyway, right?”

He said “Tell me you love me.”

She said with melting sincerity “I love you, Garrus Vakarian, more than I thought I could love.”

He took off her clothes and looked at her skin, tracing the edges of bruises until her skin broke out in goose bumps. He said “How could I make you say anything better than that?” 

He focused on her skin for long moments and then said “One day we’re going to be able to make things go right in a way we haven’t been able to see. One day C-Sec, Sidonis, Cerberus, they’ll be far behind us. Someday when we get somewhere civilized, because we are not going to die and you’re not allowed to plan for it, you can show me what you like to eat. One day I’ll be able to see you rested, sated and in no pain. That’s what I want for us, that’s what we’re going to get. For now, Venri, tell me where it hurts. I’ve seen you at a ten. So now it’s a four?”

She nodded, warm trickles through her blood from his voice and his hope and the whiskey. Hungry wasn’t bad, she just felt hollow enough to be filled with light. He stepped around her and began to massage her shoulders, thick fingers digging into her muscles, and she started to groan. Her shoulders were tight and it hurt. Not a good hurt at first, and she was maybe bumped up to a five. She said “Is it because it’s the only place I’m not bruised? You’re gonna fix that?”

He said lightly “You’re such a baby. Not even a toddler, a baby.” 

She was going to tease about being dead soon, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to keep up that thin ice sense of hope, of survival, of being back here tomorrow night with more bruises and stories. With his hands on her, she could feel it. He’d lightened up a little on the fingers and her shoulders were beginning to melt. She said “Okay, I’ll be brave. Down to a four from a five.” 

He said “That couldn’t possibly have gone from a four to a five. You’ve had flamethrower burns. You’ve been dead.”

She said “You have strong fingers.”

He said “Well, that’s true.” 

She said “And you like to hurt me.”

He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her back against him, then kept one hand on her hip and one hand on her shoulder, tipping her head back and saying “That’s also true, but I’m the best pain killer you know.”

She turned around and began taking his clothes off. The fabric was thin enough to rip, so she did, satisfaction in rending it, more satisfaction from being able to touch him. She scratched along his shoulder ridge and rubbed her face against his chest, her hands trying to touch every place on him that she could reach. She closed her eyes and embraced the dizzy. Inside her head was dark and warm, and his hands raised more goose bumps on her skin where they passed. She wanted to whisper his name over and over. He had so many names for her, but she had no better word for him than just his name. When she'd met Archangel he'd said 'It's just Garrus to you.' Just Garrus to me. Moments after seeing her again, he'd let her know she was special to him. He'd known it was her, he'd had no doubts. She loved the way his name sounded, the way it felt in her mouth, the way it escaped from her lips, the closest thing to prayer she'd known. You're just Garrus to me. You're just everything to me. I want to live, and if and when I die, I want to argue with you in the afterlife, bad temper and all. Come be just Garrus to me, for me. Come make me be the best person I can be, because I want you to be proud of me.

Thinking that, she stilled her hands and stepped back so she could look up at him, gathering his hands in hers. She had something to say, and she wouldn't do it with Reverie robbing them both of reason, her most of all. She didn't care if they were monitored anymore. Too late for anybody to catch them or do anything about it. If it was a trap it was yet to be sprung. If it wasn’t a trap they were needed. They were at the finish line, poised to cross over. She looked in his eyes and said "Garrus, I want only one thing I can't get for myself, that you haven't already given to me. If I am gone, do not throw your life away. I won't allow it. You are my second in command on this vessel and everyone knows it. They will follow you. You don't need to face a trial for Batarian deaths, you had nothing to do with it. I didn't bring you with me for that reason. Take this ship to Palaven, fight for the people remaining who still love you. I need your rage facing out, not in. Promise me." She might be naked, tiny, battered and weary, but it was a command and she expected him to follow it. Even if he didn't agree now, or agreed but lied, he'd remember later. He'd know that's what she wanted. He wouldn't fail her. She knew it and vibrated with it.

She watched his eyes swirl with pain and shock in equal measure with love and a particular familiar tension in his face while he took in what she said. The unyielding, protective, fierce part of him that wanted to simultaneously throttle her and lock her safe in a room that only he had the key to leaped in his eyes and his hands tightened in hers. Come on, Garrus. I'm not devaluing your pain, I'm valuing your life. She saw an expression on his face that might lead to "Fuck you, Shepard" and she was ready to accept it for now if that's what he had to say. You're mine, like it or not. Yes, I am bitch enough to tell you what to do even if I'm not here to tell you to do it anymore. You will remember.

He resolved whatever struggle went on in his head. She saw clarity in his eyes. He didn't argue. Instead, he pulled his hands from hers and put them on either side of her throat, claws out and points on the skin of her neck and the back and side of her head. He said quietly "Will you come get me, Bakan, on that day? On the day I die with the thought of you as much a part of me as my heart beat? Will you bring me with you wherever you go?"

Tears stung her eyes and she heard the Turian cadence to his words, his heart. She said "I did it once. What makes you think I won't do it again?" Then she added "I'll kick your ass if necessary. You don't want to spend eternity looking bad, do you?"

He said "And you would forgive me for allowing you to die? You expect me to forgive myself?"

She said "You know how stubborn I am. Whatever it is, it won't be your fault, it will be my choice. I would never, will never, want you to bear that weight."

He said solemnly "If you will come back for me, if I have the right to be at your back wherever you go by keeping faith, yes. If you are gone I will live my life in a way that would honor you."

She said "I'm yours, Garrus. I was yours then, I am yours now, I will be yours later. You will always have the right to know in your heart that if I am not there with you, I want to be."

He pulled her into his arms and rested his head on hers, his arms hard around her back. "You are adored, Venri."

Sometimes she was jealous of his expression, of his clear-through Turian loyalty and unambiguous voice. He'd earned the right to be trusted. She hadn't earned it, perhaps, but she'd demanded it anyway and he'd given it to her. Humbled and whole she leaned against him, unwilling to break the silence he'd created. He said quietly “Would you do something for me?”

She said “What can I do for you, Garrus?”

He said “Sing me a song?”

She chuckled into his chest “A song? Really? What kind of song?”

He said “I like the music playing, but there is no voice. What were you singing with Mordin? Something about Pirates?”

She said “Pirates of Penzance…there’s something from there I could sing.” She turned the music off and sang, changing some of the pronouns. 

“Oh, leave me not to pine, alone and desolate  
No fate seemed fair as mine, no happiness so great.  
And Nature day by day, has sung in accents clear  
This joyous roundelay ‘She loves thee, she is here.’  
Fa-la, la-la,   
Fa-la, la-la.   
She loves thee - she is here.   
Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la."   
Ah, must I leave thee here, in endless night to dream,   
Where joy is dark and drear, and sorrow all supreme  
Where Nature, day by day,   
Will sing, in altered tone,   
This weary roundelay ‘She loves thee - she is gone.’   
Fa-la, la-la,   
Fa-la, la-la.   
She loves thee - she is gone.   
Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la."   
His hands were moving over her as she sang, and his hands ended up, one around her throat and one between her breasts. She said “That’s a bit distracting.”  
He brought out his Omni Tool and set it to record and then said “Do that again.”  
She said “I sound like crap and I haven’t warmed up”  
He squeezed around her waist for emphasis but didn’t need to ask again. She sang it again and he recorded her voice, moving her back against his chest with his Omni Tool in front of mouth. He wanted her voice. She wished she’d thought of it herself. If he were gone she’d want to hear him. He didn’t care if it wasn’t her best, and he wouldn’t care, because it was for him and he already knew she wasn’t perfect. She finished the song she’s originally sang and then she sang from “West Side Story”

Make of our hands, one hand.  
Make of our hearts, one heart.  
Make of our vows one last vow.  
Only death will part us now.

Make of our lives one life.  
Day after day, one life.

Now we begin, now we start  
One hand, one heart.  
Even death won’t part us now.

Make of our lives one life.  
Day after day, one life.  
Now it begins, now we start  
One hand. One heart.  
Even death won’t part us now.

She ended the recording on his Omni Tool and then held hers up to his mouth, and he said “I love you, Commander Shepard Morim Venri Bakan. I am for you and always will be.” 

She stopped the recording and he used his hands to trace the path of tears down her face, and there were no more words tied together in sentences. His hands were careful and hers were urgent. His pace won because there was nothing she could do if he didn’t want to cooperate. His body was closed. She was torn between prying at him until he gave in and giving up on physical intimacy and just lying next to him in bed, focusing on wherever his hands were on her. She wanted too much, needed too much, and she kissed him frantically. His hands were gentle on the side of her face, along her waist, stroking back her hair. He lifted her and put her carefully down on the bed, face down, and if she tried to turn, he held her in place until she gave up. Her will against the unyielding came up in her mind again. She held still, the images of two front teeth and shuttle bay doors flashing through her mind. He continued with a massage of her shoulders and back, working his hands initially painfully through her muscles. She clenched her teeth together through the initial pain, and made no sounds. His hands worked at her until she couldn’t even try to tense them up again, despite her mindset. She would never be able to say or do enough of what she wanted before they were out of time. He’d said now or a hundred years from now. Not enough time. So just now. There’s just now. The resistance of her mind slipped away, the resistance of her body was worked out through his hands. She couldn’t tell any more when she was with him, if she came to peace on her own or through his hands or through Reverie. Everything seemed to curve toward acceptance of whatever it is she needed to accept. Did it matter, really, and wouldn’t she find out if he were gone?

She relaxed further and his hands tested her, she imagined his hands leaving impressions, she felt like warm candle wax. Her grasping, reaching will faded from her and all she wanted was what he wanted. Whatever that was, hurt, help or hold. She unclenched her teeth and whispered his name, not sure that he could hear it, just that she wanted to say it and hear it. The best use of her time. His hands changed from testing her muscles to exploring, his hands tracing dips and curves, the lines of her thighs and the edges of her shoulder blades, along her spine. He raised her hips off the bed with both hands, supporting her with a hand splayed over her stomach as his other hand searched her body, finding his way inside, a finger at her clit and another pressed into her, and the warm candle wax feeling spread through her whole body from her muscles and his hands, and her hands gripped the sheets on either side of her. He worked at her slowly, and his pace with massaging her muscles had her lying still, trusting, arching against his hand, feeling his claws open up enough to push sharp points into her stomach skin. Sweat rose on her skin and he licked at her spine, tipping them both into a faster rhythm, she came with his teeth on her back. He lowered her to the bed and then lifted her hips again until he slid into her, slowly and entirely. He leaned into her and then covered her body with his. He slid his hands under hers, disentangling them from the sheets until she gripped him instead. She pressed her back against his sternum blade, but her strength was failing her and she was slipping away.

He rolled to the side, taking her with him, but kept their hands together. His mouth pressed to the back of her neck and he nuzzled there as she said his name and drifted into warm sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Stop the collectors: Defeat the Collectors

Shepard

She wasn’t sure that she was hearing what she was hearing. Miranda wanted to lead a team into the base? Sometimes Shepard wondered if Miranda snuck into Shepard’s and Garrus’s quarters and put on a bit of her armor, like Legion had, and then pretended to give out orders. As much as she might have learned to…appreciate Miranda for her ability to spare her the paperwork and stay out of her way, she was appalled at Miranda’s complete inability to read a crowd, convince anybody to help her or acknowledge that she hadn’t gained the respect or loyalty of…well, anyone. Miranda was accustomed to command, and she had no tools when it came to people who did not respect people accustomed to command because they were accustomed to command themselves. Jacob had also volunteered helpfully to get himself killed when he wasn’t qualified. Is this where they decided to assert their…Cerberusicity and bump her out of command? No need to overreact, but she’d watch. She overrode Jacob’s suicide and sent Legion through the shaft. He’d be able to tolerate hostile conditions and he was the best tech expert available for the job, no insult to the non-Geth members of the team, but he had the home team advantage. He’d also had the least amount of team building of anyone, and although Morim found him endearing, that feeling did not magically extend to the other crew members. Let him show he could do something for the team, and if he failed, team building could continue by sending someone else through, and they could step over him and get it done, instead of having to stand beside him and wonder if he was going to shoot them in the back. Please, Legion, don’t disappoint the fuck out of me.

Miranda was continuing “I’ll lead the second fire team, Shepard, we’ll meet you on the other side of the doors.”

Jack said “Not so fast, cheerleader. Nobody here wants to take orders from you.”

Garrus was shaking his head, agreeing with Jack’s assessment. Morim almost smiled, but she could read the room. Even if she didn’t know every person in this room as well as she did, it was clear. The second team needed Garrus. She really hated that she knew that instantly. It would be so much nicer to keep him with her, but Miranda was still arguing “This isn’t a popularity contest. Lives are at stake. Shepard, you need someone who will command loyalty through experience.”

She was right about that. She just wasn’t right in the least about it being her.

Morim said “Garrus, you’re in charge of the second team.”

Garrus nodded. No idea what he was thinking other than that he agreed to it.

Everyone was as ready as they were going to be.

She said “I’m proud of every last member of this team for the sacrifice they’re willing to make. I’m proud to have known you, to become a part of your lives, to have fought by your side. We’ve done all we can about the what and the why of this mission. You are the who, and I’m honored to be counted among you. We are a team, and some of our team members are not here. It is up to us to make sure that no more humans, Drell, Salarians, Turians, Krogan or Asari…or even, fuck it, even Batarians, Vorcha and Volus…that nobody else gets turned into a science project. No offense, Mordin.”

There were a few smiles, scattered laughter, and Mordin said “None taken.” to more laughter.

Then she said “All right, let’s go take care of the where and the when, and then meet back here and do some serious drinking. I’m buying.”

Everyone filed out and once again it was just she and Garrus, alone in a conference room.

Garrus stepped up to her and said “I’ve got a bottle of something if you’ve got a bottle of something.” He looked at her face and said “It was the right call. I want to be with you, but I also want to get the job done so we can all get back safely. Let’s just get it done, fast and clean.”

She answered “Let’s go get our people, and keep them safe.” 

Garrus took a chain that was in his hand and put it around her neck. He had set his mandible shard into a locket, a geometric silver, blue and ivory piece. It no longer looked like a mandible, but they both knew what it was. Inside the locket was engraved the word “Venri” and when she opened it his scent enveloped her.

On one side was a scent crystal. He took one fingertip, brushed it against the crystal, and then against the pulse points in her neck. He said “It’s not a nasal spray, but I asked Mordin very nicely to take a sample and he made this.”

He tucked it under her armor, pressed his crest to hers and said “Take me with you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Meanwhile on a Collector base:

Shepard: Garrus, go ahead, I’m following. Get your ass on the shuttle and cover me from there. I’m going to shockwave stragglers to cover you and keep you from getting your pretty head exploded.

Garrus: You’re coming, right?

Shepard: Despite your complaints, I can shoot straight. You’re practically redundant. Admit I’m a good shot. Say it.

Garrus: You’re a good shot.

Shepard: Knew it. I will come running.

Garrus: So I catch you.

Shepard: That is the plan. I’m going to try to fly. GO.

Timeline: Between the ending of ME2 and the beginning of ME3

Shepard

She was thinking mostly about how to say what she needed to say, and do what she needed to do, next. The assault on the Collector base was over, destroyed, and everyone miraculously was alive. She was taking the long way home. Although being pirates with Jack would have been appealing, she had to bridge the gap between where she was and where she wanted to be. They’d survived EDI being unshackled, and it seemed to have been a necessary step toward their survival. Any plans that the Illusive Man had for them beyond this point had been dismantled with EDI’s help. EDI had informed her of contingency programming that she’d bypassed. It hadn’t been a suicide situation in the sense that the Normandy would have exploded, but that would have been foolish as the Normandy was a valuable asset. The Normandy would have had a series of beacons activate and a number of navigation glitches that would have put them in at a Cerberus base or in the middle of a Cerberus fleet. From there, who knew? Interrogation? Indoctrination? Death? 

Nah nah nah nah nah nah, Illusive Man.

She’d made it to the finish line first, and that’s what mattered. She suspected that with the final goal of capturing a Reaper and the Illusive Man’s obsession regarding Reaper technology, Cerberus was going to be an indoctrination hive soon, if it wasn’t already. 

She had to turn herself back in for trial. 

Everyone on board was getting to where they needed to go before she handed the ship over. She knew enough this time to know that turning a ship back into the Alliance wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only plan. She’d stolen the original Normandy and then returned it, now she’d return the Cerberus version after she got the original destroyed. Upgrade.

She’d asked everyone where they wanted to go. 

Jack to the Citadel: "Hey. I…well, you know. I don't have to tell you. Don't make me say it. Thanks for letting me kick some ass. Let's…let's do it again some time."

Kasumi to the Citadel: "Shep. That was fun. If you ever do something like that again, don’t call me. I’ll be around.”

Miranda to the Citadel: “Shepard. It has been an honor. I’m going to go check on Oriana, and if she has some more mail to send your way, I’ll make sure you get it. Take care of yourself. The Illusive Man wants your head on a platter. I’ll do my best to distract him for you. Be well…Morim. And thank you, for everything.”

Jacob to the Citadel: “Commander. It’s been a privilege to work with you. I was a part of history. I’m going to try to get in touch with some of the Cerberus personnel that are at risk. Thanks for showing me how.”

Mordin to Sur'Kesh: "Inspiring, Commander. Good to be part of something this big, something that matters. Will make excellent monograph."

Samara to Ilium: "You have released me from your service, yet I find I do not wish to go. If you ever have need of me again, I would be honored to fight by your side."

Thane to Ilium: "Siha, you should not allow the Alliance to lock your light away. It would not be justice, but a crime. I have Kolyat now, and although that was something you could give to me, it is not something that could ever be taken from me. I would beg you once again to reconsider, but if you cannot, know that whatever life is left to me, it would be at your service."

Zaeed to Omega: "All right, no fucking hugs. How a bitty thing like you manages to…stop that. Fuck, Shepard, get off me. If you're going to be a goddamned moron, I can't do anything about it, but take care of Garrus. Him I'm going to miss."

Grunt to Tuchanka: “Shepard! I’m going to go see about all those breeding requests now. If I remember, there was one for you, but Garrus probably said no, right? Yeah. Well, you know where I’ll be. Planning on being in charge soon. Told you once that if I found a clan, I’d be happy to pit them against you. Well…I’m Urdnot now, but you’ll always be my battlemaster. Clan Urdnot will be here to help you, or I’ll kill them all myself.” 

Tali to the Flotilla: “We did it. Again. I’d go with you, but you’re going where I can’t follow. One word, though, and I will be back, to get you out. I bet Garrus has plans already, so he and I will just surprise you if things don’t work out the way you want. You deserve to be happy, Morim. I will see you again, soon, and we’ll win. I know it in my heart.”

Legion was a bit more of a problem in terms of destinations. He’d asked to be dropped back near to where the Heretic Station had been boarded.

She imagined he didn’t want to be dropped too close, that would involve giving the Normandy more information about the Geth, or the Geth too much information about the Normandy. He assured her that he would be able to contact the collective and he would be provided transport. There wasn’t much more that she could do to help him, without being intrusive.

Legion: “Shepard Commander. It has been, is, and will be an honor. You, and what you have done, will always be part of the collective. There are 1183 Geth programs present, and one that I have created that is based on the choices I have seen you make. I would…like…to see more choices.”

It tore her heart out to say goodbye to the people that had had become a family. Yes, a dysfunctional, homicidal and insane family, but that was her kind of family. 

Giving up the Normandy herself was the hardest. She’d done it before, but she’d been so protective of this ship, she’d become such a home, so much hers. She’d been rebuilt for her. With leather seats.

She had to roll the dice again, and if the stakes hadn’t been infinite in cost…she’d have run away with these people. Every last one of them.

After being unshackled, EDI had been able to flash invade Cerberus data that she shouldn’t have had access to. The new EDI had a lovely side to her personality that made her invariably favor the crew of the Normandy over anybody else. She grasped the basics of sentience quickly and there were quite a few Cerberus accounts that she’d been able to identify and had cleared out with dizzying efficiency. She’d provided credits, intel and loyalty. Liara had an excellent setup with ways to hide money, so Morim took an embarrassing amount of money and had it put in an account for her, waiting until she was out of legal danger. She set up accounts for everyone else, also in embarrassing amounts, as a thank you from her grandly thieving heart. Every person who had served on the ship in any capacity was now wealthy. She donated enough money to pay for David Archer’s education at Grissom Academy and give him a trust fund, with an endowed scholarship in his name for other students. There was a sizeable donation made to the Salarians in order to continue Corpalis syndrome research. There was a donation to research Kepral's Syndrome. A research program for Vrolik's Syndrome was financed. Garrus's mother's treatment was financed. With a thought to Garrus’s squad, anonymous donations were put into their relatives’ accounts, which Liara had identified for them. Liara had become a partner, as close to no secrets as could be. Besides, she’d just find out on her own anyway. 

This time she didn’t expect to be restored to duty easily or soon. She didn’t expect for people to believe her story about the Collectors. What she did expect is that with those infinite stakes, the dice were loaded in favor of her release and reinstatement when the real threat showed up, which would be soon. She needed the Reapers to invade in order to fight them. That was a sure thing.

Before that happened, though, they should make a stop.

He was…of course…in the Battery, unable to stop tinkering. The Normandy had taken a lot of damage, it was true, but she began to suspect he had a tough time taking it easy. She had no responsibilities other than saying heart-twisting goodbyes, and she was spending a lot of time between preparations reading, listening to music and taking long naps.

She entered the Battery quietly and sat in the corner until he’d finished…whatever he was doing. She respected the process. When he looked up she waved. He tilted his head. She said “I think you should see your parents and sister.”

He said “Do you think I should, or are you deciding I should?”

She said “I think you need to. It is up to you.”

He said “That’s new.”

She said “It is not. I’m wonderful and benevolent and you should see your family.”

He rubbed his eyes “Yes, you’re right, but I really…”

She said “That pause there is why you should.”

He said “I don’t know what to say to them.”

She said “So don’t say anything. They’re your family. It’s your home. You should go home, say nothing if you so choose. Look at them. Stand on the ground you love. Actively love them. Don’t make excuses or apologize. Reconnect with what you’re fighting for. I’ll be here.”

He stepped to her, ran his fingers through her hair, which made her toes curl, and then he sat next to her, and said “Until you aren’t.”

She said “If your family is horrible to you and you want to leave, you say the word and we’re gone. We can even shoot at them if it gets really bad. I'll give you cover until you get away.”

He laughed "It probably won't come to that. Probably. I should see my mother. I’d like to introduce you to her.”

She said “That’s something we decide after you’ve had enough time to know what you want, what they want. This isn't about me.”

He said “If I go down there, you promise you won’t decide you were lying to me and leave me there?”

She said “I promise. If I wanted you off the ship, I’d just drug you in your sleep and boot you off in an escape pod. I’m really resourceful.”

Garrus said “True. That’s comforting.”

She said “Can you take a break from work right now?”

He said “Yes, of course. She will be fine tomorrow. If I leave my work, what do you have in mind?”

She said “I was thinking of holding your hand. Maybe walking while holding your hand.”

He said “You’re really taking this ‘nobody is on the ship and the Normandy is being run by an AI’ thing for all it’s worth, aren’t you? Holding hands. Edgy.”

She said “I'm a rebel." She stood up and pulled him up after her with his help. "There are only two things I have to do now, get you to Palaven and hand myself over. I can enjoy hearing my footsteps in these halls for a little longer. Just about everyone has left. Some people like Kenneth, Gabby, Karin…they'll go with me and be present when I turn the ship over. Ex-Alliance, wanting the same thing I want, to get back into the fight. Jeff is staying, which I think is a good idea. I offered to hand the ship over myself, but he wouldn’t hear of it and I didn’t argue too much. He’d be her best advocate.”

He said “When you…”

She waited, but he didn't continue. She said in a falsely bright voice “It won’t be too long. I’ll hand the ship in and then there will be a legal scuffle, and then I’ll get my ship back. No problem.”

Garrus sighed and squeezed her hand, his voice in a teasing admonishment “You’re lying to me.”

She said “So much. I'm lying to you so much. But let's not think about that right now. It has to happen and I have to do it, but not today.”

She led them toward the port observation deck and grabbed a drink, dragged a couch in front of the window, and sat in front of the stars. He followed suit, sitting next to her. The hands not holding drinks were held between them.

She said “Okay, get it out of your system, how am I going to betray you?”

He said “You could just leave me there.”

She said “Why would I do that? I’d miss the pleasure of your company. I like you.”

He said “You could take off without me for whatever crazy reason you have in your head. I can’t account for your crazy. You're getting everyone off the ship and I'm the last one.”

She said “Garrus, love, you're the only one. I could just tell you – Garrus, you’re going to Palaven, I’m going into custody, I will see you later.”

He said “Is that what you’re doing?”

She said “I plan on seeing you later. You have to break me out, what would be the point in pissing you off?”

He said “The point is that pissing me off has never stopped you before. So it’s really…just one thing? Just go see my family?”

She said “It’s really just one thing. Something I think would be good for you, and for your family. I’m sorry that our history has resulted in them being apart from you for so long.”

He said “I talked to Solona before we went through the relay.”

She said “Good. Only makes my reasoning more solid. Now I can insist.”

He said "There is one more thing."

She said "What?"

He said "You proposed. You weren't thinking straight, but if I had to wait until you thought straight, we'd get nothing done."

She said "Flatterer."

He said "I have no idea how humans do these things. I should have done some research, but I wanted to ask you."

She said "Once you said something about truth and stories. I think that applies here. The truth is that you're it. You're the one. Full stop. I have no questions about that, nothing to prove, nothing to resolve. In my heart and in my head, it's already done. The marriage itself is the story you tell to other people. I don't know how Turians do it either. You can tell me what you want. The legal cohabitation contract is simple and we could get that ironed out in half an hour. We're rich now, but I will grant that you didn't fall in love with me for my sense or my money."

He said "Wise."

She said "So no prenup. That’s a human thing. An agreement to divide things and money fairly if a marriage breaks up. As we will not break up unless you say so, and you’ve said you won’t say so, I don’t worry about it. You're independently wealthy yourself now thanks to EDI. You could kill me for my money and take it all. At this point, you've earned it."

He said with slow consideration "Well, that was my end game."

She laughed "So how do you want to tell this story?"

He said "That's a lot to consider."

She said "Okay, here, let me make part of it easier. Give me your Omni Tool for a moment."

He put his drink down and offered it to her. 

She said "Okay, check this out." She brought up a file and transferred it to his. "EDI and I went over it. Standard forms. It says…we're married. Put down your thumbprint and voice authorization and it's done. Mine's already authorized, see? You can authorize it now, you can authorize it later, you can consult with EDI regarding legalities. You can hire outside counsel. Most wedding ceremonies have to do with promises of the future. Will you care for this person, will you protect this person, will you grow old with this person. Maybe we don't have much of a future, but I'm going to do my best to get one with you. Any vow you could take for the future, anything of meaning, you've already done it in the past. I don't need another promise from you. I don't need words to stand in for the actions you've taken or the actions you will take. Whatever the story is that you want to tell to others, you've already shown me. I will marry you now. I will marry you on Palaven. I will marry you in prison. I will marry you in an arena, selling tickets. One of those or all of those or anything else. Whatever you want. There's no law saying I can't marry you every day if you want me to."

He stared at the file for a moment, absorbing what she'd said. He said slowly "You are the most terrifyingly practical person."

She smiled.

He said "I want one more addition to the record."

She said "What's that?"

He held her chin, his fingers hard on her skin, not gentle. He tipped her eyes up to look at him "I want it written down somewhere that you are not going to lie to me again when your life is on the line. Promise me."

She said "Aren't you afraid that I'm going to lie about that promise?"

His eyes were steady and grave. He said "No."

She closed her eyes and thought a moment, weighing promise against possibility. She opened her eyes, met his steady and grave gaze with her own and said "Okay. I won't lie to you about life and death. I'm sorry that I have in the past. You are going to make my job much harder, but if that’s what you want, that's what you'll have." She meant it.

He started changing the contract and she said "Okay, you know you lose my authorization when you change it, right? You can’t just write down that I agree to do whatever you say. I also don't agree to never get a varren puppy. Stop that."

He deleted the changes until the contract was in its original form and authorized it.

She said "So I can lie now?"

He said "No."

She said "You sure?"

He said "I trust you."

She said "Oh…dammit…my weakness. Trust." She leaned forward and kissed the side of his neck and then said "Okay. Well, we're on our honeymoon."

He said "What is a honeymoon?"

She said "Mmm…it has a couple meanings. Some are cynical, that a married couple's love will only last a month. Earth measured its time mostly by the phases of the moon. The Alliance still uses a 24 hour day to stay synched with Earth time, so a day cycle on the Normandy, take 28 of those and you have a month. Couples would drink mead the month after they married, alcohol made from fermented honey. Honey is one of those sweet things I told you about, like the syrup on the waffles. In modern connotation it is a vacation taken to celebrate being married, right after a ceremony."

Garrus said "I like that tradition. If we were on Palaven the community would be building us a new home for about two Earth weeks. At least that’s how it used to go. Now people get a house ahead of time but have the celebration there. The place in the community that is newly created is celebrated. There's a lot of food and a lot of dancing."

She said "Someday I would like you to teach me to dance."

He said "Someday I would like you to teach me to sing."

She said "I'd never noticed that…you don't sing. I thought maybe you just didn't know the songs. Turians don't sing?"

He said "For us it's much more like chanting. Because of our sub vocals, the flanging effect, we don't have precise voices like humans. Anything more complicated than a very simple harmony between two compatible voices becomes dissonant. Your voice is beautiful, unified. You can harmonize. You probably won't dance like me, but I definitely can't sing like you."

She said "As long as we have fun trying…that's all I want."

He said “That sounds good. There are some Turian bonding traditions I haven’t told you about.”

She said “What are those?”

He said “Well, we should go fishing to feed the crowd, but that’s out.”

She said “I’ve never gone fishing.”

He said “Unacceptable in a Turian mate.”

She said “You should have brought that up before you authorized anything.”

He said “Then there’s a procession, a dance.”

She said “We have a dance. It’s called the Hokey Pokey.”

He said “How does it go?”

She said “You put your right hand in.” She put hers in. He put his in.

She said “You put your right hand out.” He put hers out. He put his out.

She said “You put your right hand in, and you shake it all about.” She put her right hand in and shook it all about. He didn’t follow her lead on that one.

She said “You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around.” She turned in an exaggeratedly incompetent circle.

He said “Now you’re making things up.”

She said “I’m telling you, Garrus. That’s what it’s all about.”

He said “That’s not a real thing.”

She said “Swear to the Gods. It might be out of fashion now.”

He said “We have a dance, but it’s done naked.”

She said “You are kidding.”

He said “We’re not barbarian humans, you know, naked for a Turian is simply to be without rank in a crowd. It’s a sign of humility, not humiliation.”

She said “I’m asking your mother about that one.”

He said “I dare you. I’ll introduce you to my mother just to see if you go through with asking her that question.”

She said “Dammit. Marry someone and they stop believing your threats."

He said “You’d be nice to my mother, I know it. You wouldn’t embarrass her. Or make her throw you out of the house. I’m not telling you which one would happen or if those are your only choices. A good Turian doesn’t give away bonding secrets.”

She said “I can’t tell if you are being a good Turian by being a lying-ass Turian right now.”

He said “I can be both. You didn’t get me to promise not to lie.”

She said “I still got a better deal.”

His hands came up to either side of her face, and he kissed her. This human practice he was embracing and endorsing in his own way. His kisses were unique, because instead of moving his mouth against hers, he moved her head instead. He moved her lips where he wanted them. 

She’d taken to wearing clothing with zippers and buttons to avoid having to replace them daily. Terrifyingly practical, he’d said. Clothes came off blindly as her eyes were closed, being kissed, kissing back. He murmured “We should lock the door.”

She said “Did it when I came in.”

He said “You think of everything. Eventually.”

She laughed against his mouth and said “At least I act on things when I think of them.”

He said “I know you love me, so I’m not going to kill you for saying that.”

She said “But you want to.”

He said “Hell yeah, I want to.”

She said “Poor Garrus. Never gets his way.”

His arms came around her and pulled her closer and he murmured “I wouldn’t go that far.”

She said “Oh, good, so glad there’s something in it for you.”

He said “Would it be out of line if I brought you to Palaven and tied you to something there, hopefully me, so that you can’t leave?”

She said “Won’t work. I’m wily. Fortunately it’s easier for me. I can just ask you to do something I want and you’re often obliging. I want to shamelessly roll all over this couch.”

He said “You occasionally have really good ideas.”

She pushed him back until he was lying down and she settled her body over his. She said “I want to try something human.”

He said “Is it gross?” and then started to laugh.

She said “No. You’re gross." She made an angry face and then an apologetic one "Sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn’t mean it, I was just insulted on my people’s behalf.”

He laughed harder and she put her head on his chest just to listen to it until it died down. She said “I love your voice, I love your laugh. It's like a waterfall in the sun, down my spine.” His hands reached for her and pulled her up to his mouth, his hands in her hair. They kissed for long languorous minutes. She’d learned that Turian sex took a long time, and she fully appreciated that. It was her stamina that was the issue. He had no impatience with her, but she felt she was the one that limited the duration of sex by falling apart. She put her hands on his chest and said “Is it okay if you take my weight on your chest? On a human it would be rude. Am I going to…dent you or something?”

He said “I…uh…no, I don’t think I dent easily.”

She kissed him and said “Good.” She pushed herself up with her hands, her knees to either side of his hips, then took a hand and guided the tip of his cock into her with a moment spent to appreciate it with a moan. Just into position so he wouldn’t slide out when she moved. She wrapped her lower legs around his thighs, below his hips, so that her legs were locked around his, knees underneath and the tops of her feet against his shins. Using her hands and knees, she lowered herself onto him, closing her eyes, soaking in his groan of pleasure, her hands splayed on his chest as his breathing quickened. She wanted to control how crazy he could make her, feeling Reverie warming through her as she sank onto him, and then she’d withdraw until she wasn’t dizzy, then do it again. His hands came to rest on her hips. She was slow, setting a pace that allowed her to spend the most time with him, eyes closed, the only sound their breathing interspersed with soft moans, some groans and a bit of growling. She lost track of time and concentrated on the cresting and waning of sensation, sweat started to drip along her face and stick her hair to her skin. Her legs began to tremble and his hands supported her, keeping the same pace, until her hands began to tremble as well and ultimately she collapsed against him, taking him fully inside, but she didn’t lose consciousness. She felt the rush of Reverie, warm like sunshine, not blinding like a nova. She could go slow, one sip at a time, not drink the whole bottle and pass out.

He moved her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes and said "You’re still with me."

She said "I'm still with you." She paused a few moments and then said “I never realized how fitting the Hokey Pokey is if you alter some of the words metaphorically.”

He said “Hm? What’s this nonsense now?”

She said “You reach toward someone you want to love, you do something crazy, then you withdraw. You reach toward them with your head and you withdraw, you reach toward them with your heart and you withdraw. The final line is ‘You put your whole self in, you put your whole self out, you put your whole self in and you shake it all about’ and that means you’re in love and you never have to be out again.”

He said “That’s profound, Venri, and you’re still making it up.”

She giggled.

He said “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

She said “Damned right I am.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

They were headed to Palaven. He'd asked her to come with him to see his family and she'd agreed, because he'd insisted. If he went down there and things went wrong the first time, he didn't want to go back, with her, a second time and try to make it better. She'd argued, of course she had, but in the end he'd simply said 'please' and the argument was over. They'd go together. He didn't think she'd run away from him with the ship, but he still wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, and if she were in the room, he'd have some bolster against the experience of his family's opinions of him. He loved them, they loved him, he knew that. The rest could get ugly.

There had been some negotiating. He'd wanted to arrive unannounced, a frontal assault with the benefit of surprise attack, but she'd pointed out that it was inexcusably rude and she wouldn't go if she was going to be thrown at his family like a grenade. He'd contacted Solona and determined where everyone was. He'd let her know he had human company and news, not bad news. Well, not all bad news. The human wasn't the bad news depending on your point of view. Please let mom and dad know I'm coming and arrange for some human food. Something like that.

He wasn't a good Turian. He had wanted to be, at some point, but it had been too confining, and his freedom cost his family status and expectation. Even worse, he'd made no effort to correct that. He'd been incoherent and terse while on Omega, simply letting them know he was alive at intervals anonymously. He’d felt relieved, as choking off the communication kept their conversations brief and to the point, and he’d not provided any opinions or listened to any. His communications all meant “I’m alive, I love you, I hope you are well…” and also “leave me alone.”

Solona had been happy enough to hear that he was visiting with any company, and he was heartened. She didn't ask any questions, she just let him know where and when.

Humans weren't unusual on Palaven, a home world and a center of trade and diplomacy. His family had enough ties to C-Sec and the Citadel to make a human unworthy of particular notice. He'd like to keep it that way. She had to wear a suit out in the open as it was, so he approved of the helmet that obscured her face. Not that she was shy, just that reporters were not something they relished encountering. Check that, they might end up relishing it too much.

In order to accommodate human needs, they'd decided to meet not at their home, which wasn't shielded for humans, but at a retreat built for human and Turian cohabitation near Cipritine. Neutral ground. It was an elegant solution, nothing to be territorial about, and welcoming enough. Perhaps with her company, polite conversation could be had. Security clearances were wrangled by Joker and EDI. They were authorized direct shuttle landing privileges. When there was a snag with the rest of the authorization, Garrus's father had arranged for diplomatic immunity to search and seizure. The Normandy could orbit, but could not dock, to avoid providing services to a possible terrorist organization. This had been helpful, but it also disclosed her identity. His father would be forearmed with that information and he couldn't fathom what he'd do with it. They could go, they could leave, they would not be detained, as long as they would not go anywhere but to the arranged meeting place. His father had vouched for them. There wasn't an official warrant for her arrest, she had contacted Admiral Hackett and let him know she would be coming in after she'd completed the business of discharging her crew safely. Garrus had been concerned that she'd be taken directly into custody and out of his hands and extradited to the Alliance, but the diplomatic immunity was rock solid and would not be violated. For once he was relieved by Turian custom rather than restrained by it.

By the time they were landing, he was almost looking forward to it.

It was a shame that she wouldn't be able to go outside with him for leisure. They couldn't hold hands and watch a sunset unless it was behind appropriate screening, or otherwise he'd be holding her armor. He would have loved to show her so many things, but this would have to be enough.

They were escorted to the facility by security, who made it clear that they were staying, if not in sight, then certainly on site. That was fine with him. Morim wasn’t going to attempt to take over the city. He could reasonably assume. There’s that word again. Reasonably. He appreciated the security in case someone was gunning for her, which was a near certainty.

She took her suit off in the entranceway and it occurred to him he wanted to hold her hand to walk in to meet his family, but he imagined she’d say no again. It wasn’t a grenade exactly, but it was a match in volatile atmosphere. If they were going to be respectful, they should go all the way.

They walked in side by side, but he could swear she was hanging back incrementally. Not walking in front of him as she often did. To be fair she often had to stride ahead of him because he’d catch up quickly with his long legs. Just to keep pace with him she was often faster than she should have to be, brisk. This time she was just a little bit behind. Deferential. He’d never seen that look on her face before. He was even more heartened. He hadn’t exactly expected her to blow through, guns blazing, but he’d thought maybe she’d write off the entire experience. He’d considered doing so, something he’d only done at her request. But that’s not what he saw. It was as though she wanted to be here and was ready for anything. Willing to set her opening move to one of hope. He was not going to be out-Turianed by Shepard.

He took a deep breath and was about ready to enter the facility proper, but he paused for a moment. He said “Okay, you sure you want to do this now? We can run. We’re good at running.”

She smiled and though she didn’t reach out to him, he could tell she wanted to “This is for you, Garrus. Whatever you want. You want to run, we run.”

He said “All right, well, remember, you asked for this.”

She said “I will.”

They walked in, her still just slightly behind, only the ghosts of smiles on their faces.

Solana and his father were seated at a table in the center of a large round room, with corridors headed off in different directions from even intervals. He didn’t see his mother. Solona stood and walked to him, leaned her forehead to his. He was glad to see her, touch her again, connect with her, this little sister that had reached for him so many times in his life. Yes, she was grown, but she was still his little sister. Images of trying to distract her when her plates were growing in and she was ready to chew off his arm in frustration flooded his memory. He said “Solona.”

She pulled back and said “Garrus. You look so handsome. The marks suit you.”

Solona turned to Morim and said “Please” and gestured to the table. Both Morim and Garrus walked to the table and sat. The chairs were far apart and they were not human friendly. Garrus immediately suspected his father of setting the chairs this way to make her feel uncomfortable. She couldn’t sit back without her feet coming off the floor. She was stuck with her knees at the edge of the chair, unable to support her back, and her feet dangling. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew it. That petty status thing that he despised. This was too important to screw up. He couldn’t afford to let his father drive him to losing his temper. Humor and the power of bending instead of snapping was sitting near him, he would be calm.

His father said “Garrus, it is good to see you. Thank you for bringing Ms. Shepard to me, I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Garrus took a slow breath but held onto his temper. Ms. Not commander. Just Shepard. Stripped her of her rank. Another intended outrage. A huge insult to a Turian but Morim did not give a damn about her rank. She was still a Spectre but he suspected his father knew that already and was looking for a fight. His father expected him to follow the script. He wouldn’t do that, but he also wouldn’t lose his temper as he had so often in the past. “Certainly. I’m sure you have questions.” Let his father show his hand first. Don’t volunteer information, wait for him to give away what he knows piece by piece. Garrus realized he wasn’t a young person seeking approval. He was an adult that held every card. He had the information. His father did not and was only trying to get it through bluster. How had he not seen this before?

His father paused, noticing the insubordination but unable to do anything about it. Garrus relaxed. It was unnecessary to prove himself in any way. So that was what it was like. It felt good. His father said “From what I understand, you have been on a mission with Cerberus operatives. There are conflicting reports.”

Garrus said “What are the conflicts?” 

His father’s face was stormy and Solona took the moment to say “Garrus, what is your news? I am grateful to see you are well, you are thriving, and you bear marks. Whatever has happened, you are my brother and I love you.”

Garrus smiled at his sister and reached over, took her hand and squeezed it, and then sat back in his chair. “My news is that Morim Shepard has done me the honor of becoming my wife.”

His sister said “Oh.”

His father said “Impossible. I gave no such consent. It’s enough that you’ve been everywhere but where you should be. Of course I’d seen reports suggesting that you were involved, but I was willing to put that aside as slander. You are my son. You would do no such thing.”

Morim was doing her best to suppress a smile. She wasn’t bothered in the least. That allowed him to not be bothered in the least. “We didn’t require your consent. Turian law is not the law recognized on the Citadel, where the cohabitation contract was filed.”

Solona had recovered and she said “Congratulations, Garrus. I want your happiness.”

Garrus looked at her and smiled again. They were formal congratulations, ignoring their father’s denial and giving him the honor of Turian custom.

Garrus said “How is mom, where is mom? I would like to see her.”

Solona stood and pointed down a corridor “I will show you. Come with me, please. Morim, congratulations also to you, may your life be long and joyous.”

Garrus stood, took Morim’s hand and started to walk, following Solona. He didn’t look back at his father. 

His mother was ill, frail, some of the color leached from her skin and certainly a great deal of her brightness, her intelligence, her spark. She had always been willing to go head to head with his imposing father on anything that struck her fancy, but equally willing to back him up if she felt he was right. He could only hope he took after her. He’d never had her grace. Corpalis Syndrome was a degenerative neurological condition that robbed his mother of her wit, but none of her kindness. To be fair to his father, he’d been outgunned on several occasions, and his mother had simply bypassed his will when she so chose. He began to feel sympathy for his father, not only that his strict sense of propriety was constantly violated by those he loved, but the fact that he was losing this precious woman by inches. They all were. She looked like she was sleeping, but Solona had warned him that she was often like this now, and waking was hard for her. He stepped to the bedside, bringing Morim with him, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Hello Avah.”

His mother’s eyes opened, they were the green he remembered, not as bright as they had been, watery and smaller, unable to focus. She’d been losing her eyesight, but it wasn’t gone yet. After a few moments her eyes focused on him and she said “Garrus. My handsome son, I see you have passed another testing. I am so blessed to see you.”

He turned to the side and indicated Morim “Avah, this is Morim Shepard, my Venri, the woman I love. I have not been by your side because what she does is worth all my effort.”

She turned to Morim and said “Of course she is, and isn’t she beautiful. Garrus, you pledged to a Venri and I did not see it? I missed it? I do not remember…”

Her face clouded and her voice trailed off and he tried to reassure her. “No, Avah, she is the Venri of my heart, Turian law does not allow-”

His mother cut him off and said impatiently “I am old, Garrus, I am ill, but I am not a fool. Turian law matters less than Turian hearts. You will do this thing for your Avah. Here. I wish to see.”

Garrus was dumbstruck and Solona said tentatively “Avah, I don’t think…”

Garrus’s mother said with a whisper of her old steel “Solona, you will make this happen. Be wary of your father, he will try to stop you, but if he gives you trouble, you bring him to me. I wish to see my son bonded. I wish a thing, I shall have a thing. Am I not still mother of this house, any house in which we gather? Do you not still call me Avah?”

Garrus smiled and said “Of course you are Avah. Always.”

His mother said “Then why are we still talking? I am tired. You will return when you can show me obedience.” And that was that. She turned her head and she appeared to have dismissed them. She closed her eyes and may have been back to sleep in seconds.

They stepped outside the door and Solona said with a hint of panic in her voice “Do a thing? Do a thing I cannot do? How do I do this thing, Garrus?”

He said “First, let’s go see dad and tell him what she wants. He’ll have a few ideas.”

Solona said “I wonder if I will get a new mark from this battle. I deserve one. Look at you, you have so many.”

Garrus said “You deserve more than I have for dealing with dad every day. Come on. No cowardice. We can do this.”

They walked back to his father, who was intent on his Omni Tool, in the same place they had left him. Solona stepped forward and said “Avah has given me a charge, to see Garrus bonded to Shepard.”

Garrus’s father simply stared at all three of them, looking as though he would happily boot them all out of the house and that would make his day better.

Garrus volunteered “It does not need to be official. She wishes to honor my heart over the law, she said so. We could do whatever ceremony is required, that would please her, that does not involve a law that does not exist.”

Garrus’s father said in a disgusted tone “I will not allow you to lie to your Avah, you should not suggest such a thing. I will arrange it. A dispensation. It will be done because she wills it.” He turned the weight of his displeasure on Morim “Garrus is bound by his Avah’s wishes, you are not. You consent to such a thing? To be bonded to my son, to follow our laws?”

She said “I am ignorant of much of the law, but I am willing to learn. Yes.”

He said “Will your family not object?”

She said “I have no family except for your son.”

Solona trilled in sympathy, but his father continued “By Turian custom, he is to take your name.”

Morim said “In human custom, it is possible for people to take the names of those they marry or add them. Vakarian Shepard in this case. It is Garrus’s choice what he wishes to call himself.”

Garrus’s father said “Outside any home in which my Venri resides, yes. Inside this home, we do as she so chooses. Do you give him your name or do you wish to withhold it or dilute it?”

Morim said “I give him my name. I would ask that you call me Morim and not Shepard if that is not too much to ask.”

He snorted “Not too much to ask. That is nothing. What is it that you wish to ask of us, your clan? What is it that you would have from us in exchange, now that you have the right? You want something or you would not be here.”

She said “I want your son.”

Garrus said “She already has me.”

His father narrowed his eyes and said “So you ask for no lands, no concessions, no titles, no rights? No political sway to free you from the charges brought against you? No assistance in future conflicts? Tell me you didn’t come here for that. Tell me you didn’t come here to hide behind Turian law.”

She said “I want your son.”

Solona said “Truly, Morim, ask now. Do you not want something for yourself? As your clan we would owe you more.”

She said “I want your brother.”

His father said “Promise me that my son did not bring you here to protect you from the results of your choices. Promise me that you care for him and that he is not sacrificing his future in order to save you from the consequences you face. He is that loyal and you are that devious. You will promise me that right now and if I do not believe you, I will kill you myself. I will not allow you to use him, and killing you is the only way I can see to release us from my Venri’s bond otherwise.”

Garrus was shocked that his father would so fiercely defend him. He also realized that his father was telling her she had the right to protection and defense. Yes, by threatening her life, but she was used to that. He hadn't thought it possible, but he realized he shouldn't be surprised. Just because he’d never known how to love until recently didn’t mean it was a skill lost to others. There was no need to threaten his father in return. He was starting to want to hug him. The image of his father shaking him off in exaggerated bluster made him almost smile.

She said again, quietly, with the same tone she’d used all along “I want your son. I promise you those things. I love him. You're right, he is that loyal and I am that devious, but there's no need for me to be devious here. I will be turning myself in to face charges voluntarily. Speak to Admiral Hackett to confirm that I have already promised that. I want nothing more than what Garrus has already given me. I am here because I thought he should see his family and he asked me to come with him. I am willing to die for Garrus, and I have been since he came under my command. If he told you in this moment I deserve to die, then I deserve to die. Let him do it, because that way I won't fight back and there won't be any more bloodshed. He is no longer under my command, but being willing to die for him will not change.”

Garrus said “I will always be under your command.” He moved to stand beside her, took her hand in his.

His father glared at Morim and then Garrus. Morim stood her ground, her face still willing to extend hope respectfully. After a few moments his father was convinced, and he shook his head and said “All right. It’s done, then. Solona, please create the contract and draft the request. It should be phrased as a diplomatic agreement, bound to Turian custom and law. Invoke Rinkan. Morim has no rights in clan politics, but she is due the respect given to one of our clan. Garrus is her proxy and any requests she might originate will be made by him and undertaken as his personal responsibility, and he will be supported as a Vakarian through Rinkan. A dispensation from the Primarch would be best. Please draw it up and bring it to me to review. Garrus and Morim and I should discuss other things.”

Garrus sighed. Poor Solona. He hadn't been dutiful for a reason. She turned and left, obediently. Why had he ever been jealous? Because he had been a child. Garrus brought a chair to the table that would suit Morim.

They turned to discuss other things, and Garrus gave him the account of their mission as it pertained to him, as it pertained to the Reapers. He included his time as Archangel, because now he felt his father was on his side in a way he hadn’t felt before. Despite his father’s huffing and obvious disapproval on some points, the information at the core of it, the Reapers, was what truly concerned him, what he’d wanted to talk about when they arrived. His concern was for Palaven.

His father promised to involve Garrus in private conversations with the Primarch in order to fully explore the potential for strategic planning.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus had excused himself and Morim after a few hours, claiming fatigue. His father had waved him off irritably. He remembered this. His father had no patience for things like hunger, fatigue or…or anything other than work. He'd pointed them down a corridor, theoretically their room. Fortunately he was not going to have to argue about the specifics of cohabitation, and they wouldn't be separated. He'd have gone straight back to the Normandy, only to arrive for whatever ceremony his mother required of him.

Once they'd closed the door she whispered conspiratorially "That was awesome. Garrus, your family is amazing, I want to marry your mom."

He kissed her lingeringly, pulling back only to say "Pronouns, Venri. They're now your family. Our family." He tipped her forehead to hers.

She said "I'm dying to know. What is Rinkan?"

He walked into the room, pulling her with him, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. He explained. "It means ally, but there's a distinction between military ally and social ally. Rinkan would sometimes be invoked when a clan was at war with another clan, but they were perhaps well matched and war was going on too long, no clear outcome in sight. Rinkan became a way to avoid loss of face or further life or resources on a futile fight. Rinkan means "enemy to clan" in word play. You begin as an enemy to clan, but change to an enemy that has become clan. A male from one clan and a female from another clan would be bonded. Because bonding can't be forced, the trial of Rinkan would mean that there was no war permitted, and that it was in the best interests of the clans to meet each other and develop relationships that would produce a bond. A long process. It was a way to end a war without one side giving up to the other. Combining resources. It's the first step in admitting that force won't accomplish much so other alternatives need to be explored, without leaping straight to ally. Time given to allow peace. It is something done with only a formidable enemy, clans well matched. You being the only member of this clan, that's quite a compliment. The penalty for resuming warfare after declaring Rinkan is decimation of both clans due to attrition or execution. Nobody will make a deal with someone from a clan who violated that agreement. The law regarding Rinkan is very practical. As you are not warring with the Vakarians…or my father thinks you are no longer at war with them by taking me from them…and there's no risk of you starting something, or them trying to kill you, the majority of the law doesn't apply at all, but it's impressive he thought of it. I wonder how long he'd been working on that idea. I'd like to think he came up with it on the spot, but he knew we were involved, he likely knew I wouldn't have done that, for so long of a time unless…yeah, here's where admit my father did that for my benefit."

She said "So I just underwent a marriage contract without having any idea what I was doing, huh?"

Garrus said "You did just fine. I would have let you know if you weren't already handling it so well. You said you had no family, no Avah or allegiance. That means the Rinkan alliance is with you only. Had you said your family was the Alliance or Cerberus, or that your Avah was Hackett, he wouldn't have made that offer. You said your only clan was me. He will be expected to defend and support you, as a Rinkan partner. He won't be drawn into an argument against you, or a fight against you, he won't allow a Vakarian to do so without holding them to Rinkan as well. That is…a truly beautiful and archaic loophole he created there."

Her smile was radiant "So…we're now the Shepard clan? Do you mind if I still call you Vakarian? What do you want me to call you?"

He smiled back "We've been the Shepard clan for a while. Now there's more paperwork to prove it. Vakarian will be fine because I don't want to explain the legalities to everyone and it could get really confusing in battle if we both answer to Shepard. My family will call me Garrus. Good thing you didn't insist on a prenup. We're a great deal richer than we were with land and income granted through bonding."

She said "How do I not know this?"

He said "Because I opted out long ago. I would not become an adult by his terms. Now that there is paperwork, my father can expect certain things from me. Allegiance to Palaven. He can give certain things to me, the bribes he offered previously to keep me from becoming a Spectre or try to find a bond mate. Although he knows they didn't work as enticements, he'll give them to me now because he had promised them upon my bonding. Solona will insist anyway, she'll put it in and more just to see if he is cheap enough to object. She listened to enough lectures he gave me herself to be sick of it. My guess is he's glad to do it."

She said "Didn't he already know that you loved Palaven?"

He said "Yes, but now he can involve me officially and directly. From his point of view I won't be rotting incognito on Omega or on a pirate ship as a child. I'm a bonded adult. He gets a meeting with the Primarch, he has invaluable information in position to aid Palaven's future. That's more than he could have wanted. This is an excellent deal for him. My dad's going to enjoy Rinkan with clan Shepard. A connection to you means a theoretical confidence with you. You may be a pain in the ass to him, but as a chess piece, you're invaluable. Spectre. Savior of the Citadel. Now he knows destroyer of the Collector ship. You bring status. You offered him confidence with Admiral Hackett, and if he doesn't already have it, he will use that to the full extent. He'll also do everything he can to defend you now, he enjoys this level of wrangling. You gave him a new hobby. Now he knows that you are my Venri, and you are Avah of clan Shepard. My allegiance can be split between Palaven and Clan Shepard without any issues of chain of command. I said I would be under your command, always, my only contribution to the contract. It's official that I would not honor orders from Clan Vakarian or Palaven that contradicted your own. Based on the timing of my bonding, everything I have done since bonding to you has been in your service, honorable. We will have a ceremony, but he will make clear that bonding has dictated my actions to all critics. He will make clear that you are deserving of bonding with his son. He will establish Clan Shepard with zeal. He'll make me out to be a hero. I owed you my allegiance by Turian law, and I owe my father allegiance secondarily. No doubt he’ll imply he knew it all along. You don't owe him allegiance, but his son wrapped up in all of that potential for political sway? He couldn't be happier. It's brilliant, really, giving me exactly the freedom I want to be who I am, and still having clan back me up when or if I need it."

She said "So I married smart and I married up. Not news."

He said "And you asked for nothing."

She said "Not nothing. You."

He said "You granted yourself no value in trade, Venri. I can hear it now…what is wrong with her…that she asked for nothing?"

She said "I'm in love."

He said "I can also hear it…she's so quiet, why is she so quiet? She asks for nothing and she is so quiet, what has Garrus done to her?"

She said "Drugged me."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Garrus

Solona was handling the arrangements. She’d gotten the dispensation delivered to the Patriarch's office and they were waiting back for authorization, but his father had assured him it would be done soon. It was priority business before preparations for the Reapers. Intel had leaked its way to Palaven command, supplemented by their accounts. Palaven Command was not as willing to treat Morim like a criminal as the Alliance was. Turians were less about public perception and more about results. Of course she had to do what she did. She was a hero based on her actions. His father had also begun requesting absolving her of charges, but it was only standard diplomacy, an official protest. It wouldn’t amount to anything, but it was a gesture from Palaven command as a whole, and not Clan Vakarian. They’d already gotten permission to dock and provision the Normandy, as ownership was clarified as Shepard and not Cerberus. Morim had offered Turian command inspection of the ship based on the fact that the original had been a Turian-Alliance combined effort and they might be interested in the upgrades. The Normandy was no longer a pirate vessel, but a gift of tech and intel to the Turians and the Alliance, that information to be used in preparations for Reaper invasion. The Normandy was provided with the same amenities an Alliance ship would allowed on a diplomatic mission, and Jeff had a lot of grumbling to do about fingerprints and trespassers. Jeff had refused to leave the ship, but he had been invited down, as were the rest of the crew, to grab shore leave if they wanted to. Karin had come for a brief visit, but had gone to a local health compound to brush up on Turian medicine. Kenneth and Gabby had stayed on the ship as well, wary of leaving. Garrus couldn't blame them.

Garrus had considered what she’d asked him before heading to the Collectors, simply taking the ship to Palaven and using it for war effort, but they would need the Alliance. He knew better than to ask her to abandon her ties to Earth. The potential cost of regret on that would be unbearable. Official diplomacy would be subtly helpful. His father would establish that he was convinced of her ability to lead, and then when she led again he would appear prophetic. He'd have an open coordination channel as one of the first to state a public opinion and involve his planet in preparation. Returning home was much more of a boon than he had expected it to be.

Solona was trying to help plan, but she was also clearly interested in spending time with Morim and Garrus. When Solona had come into the kitchen to talk to them, Morim had decided that she wanted to learn to speak some Turian without help, so they had temporarily turned their translators off and were trying to blunder their way through naming things. Morim had a good ear, but without the undertones of Turian speech, the words didn’t sound whole, stripped of subtleties. When she said water it didn’t sound like a source of life, a river or an ocean, but something small, like a faucet. She sounded diminished, childlike. He had no idea how well he and Solona fared, because she just smiled and clapped whatever they said, even if they were dead wrong and he knew it because they sounded completely different. When she said his name, though, that didn’t sound small. Then he sounded like the world.

She did a few basic cooking tasks, and she was trying to learn the words as she went along, even though they didn’t know the names of the food. Brad, zheli and penabutr. Knife. Knife was something they could both learn. Glass. Plate. Gross. Solona laughed and he just leaned in, breathed in deep over the plate and said “Gross” and Morim punched him on the shoulder and then he said “Ow.” Most signals of pain do not need to be translated. Morim took a bite as he made a face and made a sound of grief. “Gross!” She rolled her eyes at Solona and chewed dramatically. 

They fooled around with words while she ate. When she was finished, Solona gestured that they turn it back on, to make some official progress. They turned their translators on and Solona began bringing up the issues she was concerned with. The ceremony, the guests, the reception. Morim had told them whatever they wanted, but it wasn’t that easy. She would be Avah of Clan Shepard and since the ceremony involved establishing her Clan, it couldn’t be up to them. What they did was Vakarian. They went step by step through each choice. Morim had realized that passivity would get her the same response that she’d gotten by offering to let Garrus hyphenate her name. Solona was gentle but insistent, his father was more direct, though Garrus had seen that he liked her and had afforded her the respect of family, no longer trying to diminish her as he had on arrival.

Solona had said “There’s the procession and there’s a dance.”

Morim said “Is the dance naked?”

Solona stopped and said “Well…yes, traditionally.”

Garrus laughed. Morim said “You weren’t lying.”

He said “And you didn’t have to ask my mother.”

Morim said “I believe Clan Shepard will be clothed.”

Solona made a notation. 

Garrus said “If she’s clothed, I’m clothed.”

Solona sighed and said “Garrus, please.”

Garrus said “Clothed. Or I disgrace Clan Shepard. Keep in mind this is retroactive, so I’ve been Clan Shepard for years. Vakarian rules simply don’t apply.”

Solona sighed again.

Garrus took a sip of his drink and said with glee “That is never going to get old.”

Solona said “But you must allow Vakarian symbols for the dance or it truly is a mockery, which you do not want.”

Garrus said “All right. What do we use again?”

Solona said “Wheelfish, phosphorus, brandy and imris cones.”

Garrus snorted “Of course. That’s obnoxious.”

Solona signed again. Morim said “What’s obnoxious?”

Garrus said “These are the symbols necessary for living. Food, fire, drink and spirit, in the form of incense. Wheelfish are very hard to catch, or at least they were traditionally. Phosphorus will burn anything, of course, no simple flame bowl. The brandy will knock you on your ass or kill you and imris cones are endangered.”

Solona said “Of course they’re difficult to get. Do you want to bring your bride an uncleaned fish, a match, a glass of water and gunsmoke?”

Garrus said “That would be easier, wouldn't it? I've done most of that already except for the fish.”

Morim said "You brought me mashed potatoes and ammo, you've done all of it."

Solona said “This isn’t about easy, Garrus.”

Garrus said “It should be.” He sighed and said “All right. We’ll do that.”

Solona muttered “You have to do that.”

Garrus said “Wheelfish aren’t impossible and we can afford one, phosophorus is easy, if dramatic, brandy we have and imris cones…I don’t know about those. Do those trees exist anymore?”

Solona said “We have a Clan source and store. You will have them.”

Garrus said “All right then. Clan Vakarian is done. Clan Shepard.”

Morim said “I don’t even know what a wheelfish is.”

Garrus said “Your offerings should be human things. Things that you need. If you have Turian food, and that’s what you bring to the bonding, technically it doesn’t bode well, because our home, our life together symbolically would then have only Turian things. You might be warm and spirited, but you would starve. No starving, please.”

Solona said “The symbols should be your own. This is the soul of Clan Shepard and…although it may not be that Clan Shepard will be continued beyond the two of you, it should still have a legacy that can hold a place of pride.”

Morim said “Okay. Well, food…honestly this is hard because it’s offensive to you guys.”

Garrus said “The cookies weren’t so bad, I was kidding.”

Morim said “And they’re pretty and have a history. Cookie it is. For the fire, maybe a candle.”

Garrus said “What is a candle?”

Morim said “Light source, a fiber wick and a hardened, slow burning fuel.” She pulled up pictures of both a gingersnap and a candle on her Omnitool and Solona said “Those are lovely.”

Garrus said "It has got to be whiskey for the drink, just my suggestion."

Morim said "Works for me."

Garrus said "I have no idea what the spirit is for you. Not that I even remember what imris cones smell like anymore. I'm sure it's strong and warlike."

Solona scoffed. Morim said "I like sandalwood. Traditional human incense. I have no idea where I can get these though."

Solona said "I will try to locate them. Are there any particular brands or types I should look for?"

Morim shrugged "Honestly I've gone with the cheapest stuff I could get my hands on, so I'm not picky. The Shepard Clan has not such a great lineage, and I'd feel…"

Garrus said "Obnoxious."

Morim nodded "pretending that I do. I'm afraid Clan Vakarian is not declaring Rinkan with a Clan of excellent lineage and tradition."

Solona said "All right, I will attempt to locate these things. Another question, and it is something to think about as it is a running theme throughout the ceremony. You must choose a Clan color and Clan markings. The bowls, the candle, the fixtures and whatever clothing you choose to wear should be of this color. I can find some things and use them without too much planning, but the sooner this is decided, the sooner I can have them made."

Garrus looked at Morim and Morim looked at him, and Solona looked at them both and said "I will give you some privacy to discuss this. Thank you…" She might have spoken longer, but neither Morim nor Garrus were paying her much attention, and she diplomatically retreated. Garrus waited for Morim to say what she was thinking, but she didn't. He said "What do you think?"

Morim said "I need a framework to know what to think. What do colors and markings mean?"

Garrus said "Color has no symbolism, though of course blue is for blood to a Turian." He stepped forward and pulled a lock of her hair forward and said "Red is for blood for a human, isn't it?"

Morim twisted her eyes to look at her hair in his hands and said "That's really more orange than red. Blood that color would probably be a bad thing."

He had wanted her to decide, but he really wanted red the color of her hair now. He decided to take advantage of her generosity and state a preference. "I think Clan Shepard's colors should be red like your hair. You could choose another color, but you'd be wrong."

Morim laughed and said "Red it is."

Garrus smiled "Excellent choice. Now to markings."

She looked at him and he combed her hair back behind her ears with his fingers. He said "Markings are Clan identification, in Clan colors. Geometric heraldry. You create a pattern and we consult records and designers to ensure it isn’t like any other pattern out there. "

She said "Do I have the right to wear them?"

He said "Of course you have the right to wear them. They are yours."

She tilted her head "Would you want me to wear them? On my skin, on my face?"

He stopped and thought "You couldn't use the pigment we use, but you could. You're making history, do what you want. What do you want?"

She said "I want to know what you think, which is why I asked and which you're avoiding. Tell me what you want to see. You're the one that has to look at me every day."

His heart skipped at ‘every day’ and he looked closely at her face. He took her hand and pulled her from the kitchen to their room. This conversation was not for any public space where someone could hear or walk in. He said "You're considering Turian markings on your face? Not theoretically or temporarily, but permanently?"

She looked at him as though he were crazy and said carefully "Yes. Of course I am. I am trying to determine if it would be an insult if I did it. I don't know how much of this is real or how much of it is diplomacy after meeting your father. I don't want to insult someone by taking the markings, but I don't want to insult someone by not taking them. I want to know what you think. I would do it or not do it based on what you want."

He stroked her cheek with a fingertip and said "Where is your pragmatic core, Venri? You want to explain this to everyone? You know it will be used against you. Turian lover." He used the taunt as an endearment.

She said "I can understand you not wanting to be called Shepard, that's something that affects every day, changing records, changing identities. I wouldn't be changing anything, I'd be adding something. Something that hopefully would mean something to you, which would be why I would do it. If I am branded as a Turian lover, I would welcome it. Make it official. They should know. Everybody should know. If they don't like it I can explain it another way."

Garrus’s heart twisted in a feeling he associated with the times he'd wanted to touch her before he'd known she wanted him to touch her. The feeling of aching yearning to have a desire fulfilled that wouldn't be denied. He'd felt this way when she wasn't facing him, when the curve of her throat or the strength in her voice made him swallow hard and pause while the feeling racked him and he savored it before moving on. He'd felt this way alone. Now he felt this way looking into her eyes and seeing something new, something promised but so far unseen. She was his, but there were reservoirs of untouched romance in her. He tried to reach her in that place, where he had assumed she wouldn’t be. “Venri, if we spent the rest of our lives explaining to everyone we met, I would be happy. If we have to shoot some of them, even better. Do not take my explanation as rejection. I am trying not to pressure you to do something you do not wish to do.” He had noticed that when he felt vulnerable he did not use contractions in his speech. Turian at his heart. She would love him as he was, not just who he had become for her. He began to truly believe what could have been taken as hyperbole before they died. Commitment, not just for a week or a month or a year. She wasn’t backing away now that she had to face normal questions of family. Turian family. This luxury to claim something fully, the right to have markings, this she would do. This they would do together. She'd asked him what he wanted and he would tell her.

He tilted his forehead to hers, finding the pace of her breathing and matching it. "I will be changing my name to Shepard. I keep Vakarian only for Rinkan, to represent my Clan and give you those rights. Clan Shepard has no rights unless I provide them for now, as a Vakarian. The only reason for you to not call me Shepard is because I enjoy the name Vakarian on your lips. Turian records after the ceremony will have me listed as Shepard. I have changed names so often people don’t recognize me anyway and they don’t want to take lessons in Turian address. I don’t work for the Alliance or Cerberus and I don’t care what they call me. When we get back in the game, call me whatever you want. You taking marks means something to me, Venri. It means not just a world to me, but two worlds. I was given a legacy and I valued its worth but I was not worthy of it alone. You were denied a legacy though you wanted to be a part." He used the Turian phrasing used during dance. "Although I left my world and followed you and could not return, the idea that you would take the legacy I have to offer and claim it wholeheartedly gives me back everything I'd lost. It makes every moment of separation from my family, from you, worth it if I can stand before witnesses, look at your face with the color and markings you choose and have you claim me as yours. For as long as I am allowed to look at your face, every day, whatever you choose will be more than I could have hoped. I am Clan Shepard. I would be fiercely proud to demonstrate that or explain it to them, to you, to myself, for the rest of my days. Here you will always have family. Here you will always have a home. You gave me the Normandy and trusted me to care for her. I give you our family and I trust you to love them."

She was silent and he pulled her into an embrace, and she leaned her head against his sternum blade, moving her head slowly, up and down, nuzzling at his chest plate with nose and forehead. He tightened his arms around her and she put her arms around him. She said “I want you to be happy. I know I haven’t been able to get that for you, but I want you to be happy, I want you to have what you want.”

He said “I am happy. It is a Turian ceremony, but this is unusual enough that we can make changes. We wear clothes. There is a cookie. Is there anything you want that we could add in? Think about it, Venri.”

She said “Most human ceremonies involve a lot of talking. Is there talking in the Turian ceremony?”

He said “Just talking? There has to be more.”

She said “Talking and then a kiss.”

He said “A kiss in front of everyone?”

She said “That seals the deal. A kiss. That’s the end of the ceremony. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’”

He laughed “Yeah, we probably can’t do that. Not that I wouldn’t want to, but in a diplomatic sense that’s more incendiary than the phosphorus. Do you want a human ceremony?”

She thought for a moment “Maybe I should have done it on the ship, after the Collectors, when everyone was still there. I wish I’d thought of it, but it seemed…” she trailed off and thought “It seemed like I would be holding everyone hostage, that they’d have to wish me luck. I can’t command a wedding.”

He said “Think about it, Venri. You have given me everything I could want, let me return the favor where I can.”

She said “So there’s no talking? I don’t have to recite anything?”

He said “No talking. Words can be twisted, actions speak for themselves. Very Turian. You must ask me to dance, to be a part, but not with words. You hold out your hand to me and I take it or I don’t.”

She said “I have to dance?” and then she laughed. She pulled back and smiled, her eyes wide and shining and she said “So teach me how to dance so I don’t embarrass you and you won’t be tempted to leave me hanging.”

He crossed his hands over his chest and said “So tell me. Have you been faking how bad you are at dancing?”

Her eyes branched with laugh lines and she said “Not as much as you’d like, I’m sure. I’m not good. I’m just not really that bad. I’m about as good as I was at the Turian reception, but keep in mind that dress was not made for dancing.”

He laughed “Why would you do that?”

She said “Because it amuses everyone so. Social situations are difficult enough for someone in command. It breaks ice. There’s ice. Please don’t tell?”

He shook his head “All right. It’s our secret. Let’s see how not good you are. Would you have stepped on my toes had I asked you to dance?”

She said “You’ll never know now. You never asked.”

He said smugly “You wouldn’t have stepped on my toes.”

She said “You don’t know that. Maybe you’d have picked me up. Seems like enough incentive for me.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She spent time at Garrus's mother's side. Vilarene was her name. Tensir was Garrus's father's name. There was a whirl of preparation elsewhere, and Garrus was also reconnecting with friends and colleagues, family members and interested parties. He would have liked for her to meet everyone, but she had some work of her own to do and deferred in favor of collecting thoughts and organizing them. Here there was peace, and silence, and respect. She was doing what she'd told Garrus he should do here. Just actively love. Having expected a prickly and defensive encounter on arrival, she had gotten that, but much more. She had pulled Garrus away from his family entirely. He'd lost years of what he could have had. Years where she was dead and could do nothing about it. Years of missing his mother, grieving her decline at a distance, feeling helpless. Years of feeling he'd disappointed his father, his sister. Morim was blessed to be able to be here, in this house, with these people. With her family. She sat in silence and read reports, responded to requests for clarification from various sources silently.

Vilarene roused and Morim said lightly "Hello."

Vilarene turned to look at her and she smiled "Morim. My beautiful daughter."

Morim said "What should I call you? I don't know the Turian words for address, and I wished to ask you."

Vilarene said "Ah. Well, you cannot call me Avah, as you are your own Avah. You answer to no one. Such a lovely thing to found your own Clan and create it in your image."

Morim said "I will answer to you."

Vilarene tilted her head and said "Will you? I accept. You still cannot call me Avah, but perhaps…yes. Call me Lineem. It means 'sky close.' Like stars. Stars are far apart but if a person looks at the night sky they will see distant stars close together. When a person looks at us they will see us close to each other. We choose this, yes?"

Morim smiled and said "We choose this. Yes, Lineem."

Vilarene said "Garrus has chosen you and you bring him back to us and you bring yourself. We are blessed."

Morim said "I am blessed, Lineem."

Vilarene smiled and said "So you are." She drifted back into what passed for sleep, out of Morim's reach. Morim sat silently, waiting until the tears cleared up before continuing to read.

When Morim had finished working she'd slipped silently back into the main room, where there were many people she didn't know, wondering if she would be related to them soon. Although Garrus insisted it was done, she was already related, they were already family, she set the start date slightly forward until the ceremony. Was there a way to interrupt a ceremony the way there was on Earth? Probably not. A bonding is not the same as a marriage. Sex happened before also, theoretically. Did anybody have to duel over a lover in Turian history? She'd have to ask. Later.

Normally she'd walk up to Garrus and touch him to inform him she was in the room, but she was more circumspect in a Turian crowd. She was back to the mindset of the Turian reception on the Citadel. She needed to alter her posture, alter her words. She'd begun to make her presence known by moving into his field of vision. She did that now and he saw her immediately. She was easy to pick out, certainly. She was short. She had hair. She was in love with him, that being clear from her expression. Being accepted by his family gave her joy and warmth, but also increased the responsibility she felt to not fuck that up. She was getting a little bit better about Turian expression with so many examples. Nonverbal mandible movement was starting to make more sense. That particular dip in his mandible meant he was glad to see her. A positive sign. She didn't know if mandible motions were voluntary or involuntary or both. She'd have to do more research. She'd taken him so entirely for granted. He'd wanted her to. He'd become more human for her and she only became more Turian in special circumstances. She didn't know if he wanted her to be more Turian. She wasn't constrained by behaving in Turian ways, she just didn't want to be a fraud by doing it badly. She wasn't in command here, and she became inherently more receptive, less reactive. It was hard to stop her brain from analyzing every moment, but Garrus still had his visor on daily. He understood. He'd take his visor off, she'd put her paint on. Not paint, exactly, but a subdermal tattoo. 

She'd gone to a herald designer and she'd outlined an idea based on Chinese calligraphy brush strokes. She'd have lines of red hatch marked stylized brush strokes about an inch wide conforming to the curve of her cheekbones, where she'd usually wear blush. The brush strokes would be overlapping and intersecting, close enough to form a block of color with the upper and side edges patterns emerging from the center. She didn’t go so far as to choose strokes with meaning to her personally, she had no right to Chinese history and only wanted to pay homage to an artistic style. Although Turian markings usually weren't on the body, she took full advantage of the ability to make her own rules. She would have the same stylized brushstroke pattern applied over her collarbones. Cheek and collar were not face plates, but they were prominent bones. She'd have it done the day of the ceremony. She'd explained the element of surprise in human weddings, not seeing the bride on the day of the ceremony, so she'd surprise him. She'd checked with Solona to make sure the pattern was acceptable, and Solona had agreed it was lovely and distinct. This wasn’t a traditional tattoo, this was a much simpler and faster procedure, everything applied at once according to a template. She’d also decided to get her lips permanently changed to that color as well, because clashing was now going to be a real possibility with most of the lipstick she’d used before. 

Garrus excused himself from the conversation he was in and walked over to her, taking both hands in his. “How is Avah? Your work is done?”

She said “She’s fine. How should I address your parents? She said I could call her Lineem.” Garrus smiled and she smiled back. “But that is what I should call her in my heart or when we are alone. In front of all these people, how do I address them? Mr. or Mrs. Vakarian is going to be entirely redundant in this room.”

Garrus said “Mother of your spouse is Inva, father of your spouse is Nesva.”

She memorized them by a few repetitions inside her head and said “Thank you. Liara just let me know she will be here for the ceremony.”

Garrus squeezed her hands “Good. Everything here is going well. As far as I can tell nobody is going to try to kill us, so we can probably manage without being armed.” 

She said “My gown again has no holster. Oversight.”

Garrus said “Enough people know about it that it is a prime spot for an assassination attempt, and not of just you. Security has been handled by those who manage diplomatic events from heads of state. Unless they’re indoctrinated…oh. Wow, I really wish I hadn’t thought of that.”

She squeezed his hand back “I already thought of it. We’ll manage. If the caterers have blue shiny eyes, dibs. I haven’t shot anybody in weeks.”

He said “Everyone is being very formal and curious, so far no hostility. I’m not promising there won’t be. I’m sure jealousy and resentment are going to raise their heads. Many think you shouldn’t have the ear of the Primarch, and of course the women are bereft at the loss of my company.”

She said “They can have the ear of the Primarch. At best I have the ear of someone who has the ear of the Primarch. As for the women, they have my deepest sympathy, but they can suck it. Wait, no, they can’t suck it, and that’s their problem.”

Garrus stifled a laugh and drew her forward to begin making the first of what would be a number of introductions she tried to memorize.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The day of the ceremony came fast on preparations and Liara had come by early and was helping her put herself together. Liara had arranged for the gown and brought it with her from a designer on Ilium. The subdermal pigment had been applied to cheek, collarbones and mouth. Morim liked it, leaving it as the only color in her makeup, but there was black liner and mascara around her eyes. The markings were stark against pale skin with a few freckles, a carnelian wash of color across her cheekbones and her collarbones, with the strokes reminiscent of effortless calligraphy. Anybody who studied calligraphy knew it took a mountain of effort to produce what looked effortless, so she would go with that theme. Dedication. Commitment to a cause. That’s what the markings meant to her. Her gown was of the same carnelian, in a more Turian style, but with a human bodice, a wide V-neck rising to steep and wide off-the-shoulder bands of stiff and subtly arched polished fabric. Her collarbones were exposed as much as possible and then their pattern led into the design at the shoulder. The skirt, she’d insisted, should be the same type she’d seen at the reception on Turian women, with a fall of fabric strands flaring down from where the dress ended below her hips, her waist cinched in by more polished fabric. There was an underskirt of more flowing fabric in panels, a subtly darker shade with more shine. The falling strands were about two inches wide, individually harder, holding more of their shape and blade tipped at the bottom. The edges had a beveling effect added subtly to look as though they could cut, brought up in sharp relief when the underskirt moved with her. The dress almost looked like armor and that’s what she had wanted. Let’s do full theater. It was not delicate or reminiscent of a blushing bride. It was reminiscent of the war that had brought them together, of Rinkan, of who she was. Her hair was pulled back in a sculpted and dramatic twist, gold and carnelian accents of hair jewelry matching the earrings that fell in drops and blades.

Liara walked over to her when she stood and adjusted the shoulder bands in ways Morim couldn’t see. Then she said “Well. That looks effectively intimidating.”

Morim smiled “Oh, good. That was what I was going for. Thank you so much, it’s perfect.”

Liara said “Happy to do it. Thank you for inviting me.”

Morim said “I can’t think of anyone else I would want to help me be intimidating. Except the guy I’m about to marry.”

Liara said “How many times will you both be getting married?”

Morim said “I have no idea, we’re just getting started on the process, but so far I like it.”

Liara laughed and ushered her to the entrance to the central chamber. “It’s almost time to go and I have to get out there. Don’t trip.”

Morim looked down at carnelian shorter-heeled shoes than was customary and the accommodating skirt. “I planned for tripping. Garrus has also promised he won’t let me.”

Liara said “You could always find a way.”

Morim said “Testament that you both know me. All right. I’m ready.”

Liara gave her a hug, avoiding crushing anything important, whispered that she looked beautiful and opened the door.

The circular room in the center had been built to accommodate Turian ceremony. There were seats in four separate quarters of the room, facing in toward a central dias, carnelian patterned carpeted paths creating aisles between the quarters. On the outside where the carpets ended there were four stations beyond, holding the symbols of the ceremony. 

The procession had already been going on for a while, a silent and slow greeting of guests and family. Liara stepped out and took her place among the now spectators, an internal circle and an external circle of guests passing by each other in opposite directions. It wasn't difficult because this could involve elders and the young, and it did. Tensir stood beside his wife Vilarene in Vakarian colors. She had been able to sit up in a transport chair, but was not unable to greet everyone consistently, so he did it for her. People dropped down to her eye level to greet her with silent respect, and he guided her chair through the procession. Children that needed to be carried would be carried, but if they could walk and they wanted to, they could be in the procession. Some children were already seated or idly hanging around through the curved aisles created by the chairs, and most of the sound in the room came from them. Most of the smaller Turians were in Vakarian blue, but other colors were present. Some of the adults were in uniform, representing not their Clans or a personal relationship, but Palaven Command.

The procession would continue until each guest had seen each other guest three times, proving that they could look each other in the eye and not fight, not object, with multiple opportunities. The circles would intersect in one spot and people would reform themselves into new patterns to vary the composition of the circles. It took more than three full passes, something more like nine to make sure everyone saw each other and looked them in the eye three times. A little Turian boy was enjoying the procession and he started to growl at the other circle and they nodded to him and pretend to be afraid or jokingly gestured to shush, which he ignored. Morim stayed behind a screen, but could see. Joker had made the first pass, but had sat down and Tensir had also taken Vilarene to sit in the quartered chairs. The first pass was traditionally required, but it was not necessary for each guest to do the full procession, though many did if they were able bodied. It reminded Morim of the clinking of glasses at a toast. You do it if you can, but if you can't reach, the toast still stands. A little Turian girl recognized a woman that she wanted to be near. The little girl broke ranks and ran over to her and was swept into arms that carried her the rest of the way.

Joker had finally agreed to come down after EDI had assured him that the Normandy could not be taken. Morim hadn't made it an order, but had asked emphatically that people attend, trying to overcome the formality of the invitation and pressing people to know she wanted them there. Joker, Karin, Gabby, Kenneth and now Liara were there. She would have liked to invite everyone, but she knew that most of her crew could not attend. The security checks alone for everyone would have made it impossible. She did not have many legal friends, she'd realized during the process. She also only had one friend that could jaunt across the galaxy for a day. There was an Alliance ambassador to Palaven that was attending, but she had no idea who she was in the crowd.

The procession wound to a close and the two people that had volunteered to begin it and stay throughout, guiding their circles, broke off and began leading people to seats in two lines. People broke off and reformed and met with loved ones and sat. Once the room was reasonably settled and quiet, other than the children, who were mostly ignored and only occasionally rallied to pay attention, a percussive beat began, a beginning of a cue. Garrus would enter from a parallel side of the room so they couldn't see each other, as intended. They walked to the first station on opposite sides of the room. The beat continued and another cue began that they'd practiced. Turn and walk toward each other. This was usually a much more complicated dance, but since she couldn't do the original, they'd humanized it. Okay, maybe a lot of humans could dance, so they Shepardized it. They would be clothed, they would walk, and only a few dance steps would be done. They turned on cue and walked toward each other down a central aisle. They should have passed each other without looking, but she couldn't help it and she turned her head as he went by. He was dressed much like he had been at the Turian reception, richer blue and more shine to his outfit with silver fittings. He looked so good. He heard the murmur of the crowd, turned his head to her and tilted it, then hooked his finger back toward her, indicating she stay in her lane. Gentle laughter, starting with humans and scattering to Turians. They both turned back to the intended direction, went to the first station, opposite where they'd both begun, and lifted bowls of food. Hers had a gingersnap, his had some flank meat of wheelfish. 

They walked back down the aisle to the center again, looking at each other this time, warm appreciation in his eyes. Some sort of nonverbal movement of his mandible brought another, more Turian laugh. Definite positive response. They put the food down on the dias and then touched right hands to each other across the way and turned a quarter turn. Strangers to first contact. Food, a first shared need. After the turn they walked opposite ways down another aisle. A little boy broke away from the crowd and tore toward Morim and she heard the little feet and the gasps, and turned quietly to sweep him up into her arms. He was talking so fast she couldn't understand, and he may not have even been speaking a language other than that of children. His hand reached out to touch her hair and she bent her head toward him so he could. He snagged a bit of hair on his finger and pulled it out of the twist and pulled it forward. He beamed and babbled and she took one of the gold and carnelian jewelry pieces from her hair to give to him, and then put him back on the floor and pointed him toward his mother, who held out her arms and he ran to her. She turned to Garrus, blew her hair back and when that failed, tucked it behind her ear, raised her arms in a universal question of 'what are you gonna do?' to scattered laughter again, and they continued to the next station. Drink. Alcohol. Confidences and companionship. They placed the bowls on the dias and then held both hands out to each other, grasping them and then both leaning back into another quarter turn, down the next aisle. Fire. Warmth and light and free time spent together after the sun went down. Hers was a carnelian candle, actual beeswax thanks to Cipritine being a big place with a lot of humans. It was incised with the markings on her face. The candle flame and the phosphorus burn in Garrus's bowl were protected with a small invisible grate above them because they had to put their hands over them for the third turn by the dias, both hands crossed, and all four hands held together, one on top of the other, a speeding spin a full way around and a stop to go down the final pathway. Incense. Spirit. The soul of bonding, one distinct presence to another, blending together, dispersing through the space they share together, becoming inextricable. They approached the final path slowly, carefully placing it on the dias, and circling separately around the dias opposite each other three times, then back three times, ending in the spot where they had first faced each other across it. Surveying the offer and the life they'd build together. She held out one hand to him, reaching across the dias to him, and they walked around the dias three times again, until he changed direction while she held still, moving her hand to follow him until he stood before her, her arm outstretched close enough to almost touch him. He was supposed to bow, but instead he dropped to one knee and took her hand and pressed it to the center of his crest, holding it there for a long moment to soft murmurs from the audience. Looking at him her brows drew together and she started to cry. Here they were supposed to do a few steps of a modified waltz together, but instead he surged to his feet, lifted her off the ground and cradled her close to his chest while whirling around in circles, making the complete turn of the dias together in his arms. She held onto his neck and didn't make a sound, barely remembering they had company and she shouldn't run her hands where she wanted to run them, put her mouth where she wanted.

He changed direction and stopped suddenly, then without appearing to be anywhere near as dizzy as she was, walked to his mother and stood before her. He said "Avah, I come before you with obedience and the Venri of my heart and my home."

Vilarene nodded regally and said "Garrus, my son, Morim, my daughter. I want your happiness."

Morim had the presence of mind to hold on and say "Inva, Nesva, thank you for bringing your son into this world. I promise you that I am for him, that Clan Shepard will ever be at your service."

Tensir bowed gravely and Vilarene smiled at them and said "All the blessings of Clan Vakarian are yours."

There was a cheer from the human section of the spectators, and a standing ovation from her crew and Liara. The ceremony was over and well wishers made their way toward them. Garrus did not let her down and she didn't want to get down. People clamored forward and she accepted blessings and greetings and wishes for the future. Some of the wishes were formal and included the hopes of family and children and her heart squeezed. Children. They could have children. She didn’t doubt they could make it possible. Hope bloomed. They could try biological or they could adopt. All the normal conversations they hadn’t had but could have now skipped through her blood. They’d always have a home here, they could perhaps adopt Turian children.

Karin met them and wished them good fortune, promising bottles of excellence as gifts, with the admonition that they have to have the first glass with her. They quickly agreed. Joker made his way carefully forward and said "What about kiss the bride? You're supposed to kiss the bride."

Garrus tightened his hold on her and dipped his head to kiss her to a few gasps and some scattered clapping from the humans and the Turians familiar with the custom.

Liara came forward and congratulated them, and Garrus thanked her for the dress fervently.

Gabby and Kenneth came forward, together as always, and wished them somewhat formal congratulations. Gabby seemed choked up and Kenneth hovered protectively near her. Garrus and Morim thanked them both effusively for braving the Cipritine wilds and the grave danger until they both gave more enthusiastic congratulations and Garrus leaned her forward to hug them both in turn, then pulled her back against him.

With a break in the people wanting to talk to them, she moved her mouth to his ear and said “Didn’t want to let me humiliate you dancing, huh?”

He squeezed around her back and thighs and leaned down to tell her “You’re lucky I felt humility enough to not lick that dress off you in front of these witnesses. Speaking of which…”

He swung her down onto wobbly feet and held her steady until she could stand without leaning and then brushed his fingers over her cheekbones and collarbones. “These are beautiful. Thank you, Venri.” He brushed a finger over her lips and said “That too?”

She said “That too.”

He said “Anything else under that dress?”

She said “That would be fun to explain in the herald registry. No. But if you have any ideas…”

He held her hand “I have ideas. How open are you to having my name tattooed on your ass? Tastefully, of course.” He pulled her forward before she could reply and began formally introducing her and accepting greetings and well wishes from more guests. There were toasts, and food. The alcohol and giddiness meant she wasn’t moving far from his steadying arms. After dizzying amounts of congratulations and she was full of the warm feeling of community, Garrus pulled her over to Liara and he said “We’re going to leave the community space now, we’re going to go to our room. Run interference for us?”

Liara nodded and hugged them both “Congratulations, go be happy.”

Garrus walked with her purposefully to their room, not allowing them to be distracted and pulled her in, closing the door carefully behind him and making sure it was locked. There were still children out there, so…

In the middle of that thought he rushed over to her with the startling speed he possessed and began to kiss her, his hands moving her head, her mouth against him. He’d pull back every few seconds and say a few words, then go back to kissing her. It was like being underwater and then popping up to be able to hear and being dragged under again. “You are…so beautiful…I can’t believe…Venri…please…I need…Spirits…I need you.”

They had needed for a while, but now they could say it, in front of everyone. Governmental bodies were now involved. They were official. Clan Shepard now existed before witnesses. His mother and father had granted their blessing. She had a home and a husband. She said between kisses when he came up for air “What…do you…want me…to call…you?”

He pulled back and his eyes searched her face and his fingers came up to trace the markings on her cheekbones. “My Morim, you can call me anything you want.”

She said quietly “What do you want? I love your name, but this means new names for things. Turian names. Should I call you…Venri?”

His hand stilled and he looked at her and said “You can call me frying pan, Morim. But let’s try it. Say it.”

She brought her hands to caress at the side of his throat and said “I love you, Venri.”

She was rewarded with a groan combined with a growl and he said “Turn off your translator. I want to hear your voice, only your voice, nothing else.” They reached up together and turned them off, and he started to talk, that reverberating growl in his chest deepening. She had no idea what he was saying, but she heard him to her heart, to her bones. She didn’t want to kiss him and have him stop, so she listened as he spoke and met his eyes, caught his hands in her own and put them on her collarbones, then moved her hands to the placket of his pants, caressing and opening the fabric until his words were hitching on soft groans and he opened to her hands. 

His reaction to the way she looked called for making the most of it. He was still Garrus if he was grimy with sweat and dirt and his armor scorched. She was still Shepard plastered in sweat and blood. There were seasons of Garrus though, his moods and his methods, same as she had seasons. This was new, it was like seeing snow for the first time. The urge to taste snow on the tongue. He was joyous and happy and she wanted to taste this same man in a new mood. She imagined the sight she would make to him, on her knees, skirt billowing around her and then settling in curved and silent blades around her. He could look down and see the care put into her hair and he could tear it apart if he chose to, his hands on her cheeks and collarbones. She wanted that and wanted him to have that. If we’re going to deal in gestures this evening, here’s my gesture, Venri. She didn’t take her eyes off him, dropping to her knees slowly, her hands gliding over his cock and mouth opening for him. She realized she wouldn’t leave lipstick marks on his body now, and wondered if she should just commission a shade of lipstick so she could enjoy that again. 

Humming warmth and happiness spread through her body as she watched his face, he was trembling and weak for her, no show of his considerable strength, his fingertips gentle and stroking randomly along the brushstrokes of her tattoo, hands shaking. She didn’t speak but thought as she looked at him ‘Just you, love. Just you. I know I wasn’t there. I know I can’t promise to put you first always, but you should know it’s the galaxy that is the only thing I value over your life, your happiness. I need you.’ She didn’t know what he was saying, but it sounded like that, only that she knew he would choose her over the galaxy every time and it humbled her, to have this with him. He’d go with her knowing she would not choose him. He should know she wanted to until the feeling was like a prisoner in the cage of her bones, shaking and raging its way out to him. His legs began to lose their strength and she didn’t want him to collapse, so she stood and backed him up with a fingertip until his knees hit the back of the bed. She pushed back lightly and he fell back, trusting her. She lifted her skirt and tore aside the carnelian silk underwear to the accompanying groan from him. She climbed up onto her knees, pooling the skirt around her, and sank down onto him. He was flat on the bed, so his head was turned to the side to protect his fringe. He started to talk again, hoarse and shaken. Reverie was teeming through her blood and she could see it in him, in his face, that overwhelming sensation that stripped civilization and control out of him.

She rose and fell slowly, and stretched her hand to reach a hand up to press her fingers at the base of where his fringe branched out from his head, dragging another groan from him and a crack to his voice. She lowered her mouth to scrape her teeth along the hide at the side of his throat, bared and open. Maybe she’d picked up some Turian manners along with her observation. Something about the ceremony, superficial or not, something she might have dismissed as only appearance, had given her some sense of Avah. I will ask and you will provide. He’d always been under her command, but she’d known it was always voluntary. It would still always be voluntary and she wouldn’t push him beyond what he could do, but she enjoyed this sense of mine by right. He’d said he wanted to hear her voice, so she began to talk, close to his ear, pausing only to press her teeth, her tongue, her lips to his skin. They were still entirely clothed and despite fittings and bindings pressing into her skin, Reverie made that just bursts of sensation against her breasts, her stomach, her arms. She knew her pace where she wouldn’t be overwhelmed, and it was like sunlight and shadow, gliding along his body like a rock impossibly skipping across a lake in spirals. He couldn’t hold onto his sanity the same way without altering the pace his way, because of some quirk of Turian physiology she didn’t understand. She’d learned since she’d convinced him to try thrusting that she would be flooded with chemistry and she could acclimate at her own pace, but the effect of friction on him wasn’t the same. She didn’t know, but she imagined the swirl of movement from thrusting gave her time to adjust, and the effect on him was a slow and overwhelming buildup of loss and gain. She imagined his body, his mind feeling that sense of claiming and being claimed not once but many, many times. She’d tried to learn to surf those massive waves of sensation, to watch him, feel his breathing, listen to him until it dragged him under. He could still knock her out if he did it fast, and he did that enough to know he enjoyed being able to do it. Now she got to return the favor. She’d like to make him faint, at least once. Seemed like a fitting bonding gift.

She dug her fingers into the back of his scalp and pressed, and her mouth came closer to his ear, saying simple words, many he knew. Venri. Garrus. Mine. Love. Lust. Need. She said frying pan once against his skin and chuckled with a husky breath toward his ear and his body responded with a convulsive clutch at the blankets. He was right. She could call him anything she wanted. Reverie was pulling at her and she resisted slowing down to compensate, losing track of her thoughts and plans and intentions. He was panting and prone, and she drove onto him faster, but sat up and angled herself in a way that she knew would be painful if it weren’t for Reverie. Waiting and patience were gone, replaced by lust and the driving of her body, grinding onto him hard with each down thrust, leaning into him, finding a ridge of skin to drag her clit against with each pass. Mindless except for the will to press hard against him until she came, a rush of vertigo and bliss clashing until she collapsed against his chest. She said his name and he didn’t move. Somewhere she’d lost him. Somewhere she’d gained him. She’d done it, he was out. She gasped a hard gulp of breath and was able to feel smug for three seconds before she joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to KuraiUmmei on Deviantart for this beautiful picture of Morim and Garrus at their bonding.  
> [Morim Shepard](http://kuraiummei.deviantart.com/art/Morim-Shepard-609506020) by [KuraiUmmei](http://kuraiummei.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/BLL4bSm)


	16. Chapter 16

Shepard

It had been three days since their bonding ceremony and she knew she was going to have to break it to him that she was leaving before the end of two more. It was time to go. Time here had been beyond her expectations of a brief and necessary visit that may or may not end with covering fire. There was still family at the compound, as traditionally it was a two-week celebration. It had turned into a Vakarian family reunion since this was the least traditional ceremony to ever take place. Normally they would be celebrating in their home. They had property and homes now, but none of them were suited for human habitation.

She was playing with some of the children who were endlessly entertained by her hair. She left it down because it was going to get that way anyway. She was on the floor and a little Turian boy named Selip was playing with her hand while a little girl named Felinas played with her hair.

Garrus came over and sat next to her and pulled the little boy into his lap. He said “You’re bleeding.”

Morim said “She didn’t mean it, she was just excited.”

He nodded and said “Uh huh. And your finger being broken?”

She said “It’s probably only sprained.”

He said “Sprained fingers don’t point the wrong way. I know human hands are weird, but that’s just wrong. Don’t you need your thumb?”

She looked at her thumb and then said “It’s probably dislocated. Nobody would know if you didn’t tell them.”

He said “I’d know.” He gave the little boy a push back to his mother and collected the little girl, pushed her back to her father.

She said grumpily “You can’t tell me who to play with.”

He stood and then pulled her up by her uninjured hand and brought her into the kitchen where he found some tape in a first aid kit and straightened her finger out while she yipped. He strapped her thumb to a blunted knife as a splint. He got a wet cloth to dab the blood off her temple and said “Spirits forbid you take care of yourself.”

She said “I could take care of it. Cybernetics covers a lot. It will be fine in a few hours.  
I have not so many opportunities to be around kids.”

He looked carefully at her face and listened to her voice and after a few moments said “Come on” and took her uninjured hand again and took them to their room.

He pulled her inside, closed the door and walked her to a couch to sit next to him. He said “You’re distracted. You’re figuring out when to go?”

She said “Yes. I’m leaving in two days.”

He said “All right. I’m going with you. We’re leaving in two days.”

She shook her head “No. Here is where I say ‘Garrus, I’m going’ and you listen to me.”

He said in stubborn tones “That doesn’t sound like me.”

She laughed and said “It sounds exactly like you. I didn’t say you liked it.”

He said quietly “Why?”

She said “Because our family needs you. Because Palaven needs you. I’m going into custody. It is going to be a voluntary turnover, but I don’t know what happens after that. I don’t know if they’re going to make an example of me publically by going out of their way to humiliate me. I don’t think they will, but…I think I’m just going into a cell somewhere, to wait for an unspecified amount of time, during which the Reapers will attack and I can get back in the game. That is my plan. But no matter how times I run through it in my head, handing myself over with you there goes wrong an unacceptable percentage of the time.”

He said “Goes wrong how?”

She said “It goes wrong because you’re in the same room with me and someone puts their hands on me, puts me in cuffs and reads off charges. And you do what?”

He said quietly “I will stand there in acceptance of whatever happens…after I’ve torn their hands off you and the limbs from their body.”

She laughed and said “Yeah…after which you get shot or put in a cell and there goes my day. I’d be forced to shoot the person that shot you, someone else would be forced to shoot me, you see where this goes. Then there’s the diplomatic nightmare where my new tattoos and your presence drags Palaven into this and turns it into a personal wrangle between two planets about the disposition of Clan Shepard, instead of it staying solidly about the actions of Reapers.” He blew breath from his nose and tilted his head back and she said “I want the last time you see me to be here, while I’m free, not being dragged away somewhere you can’t follow. I know you could come with me on the Normandy, but then what? What do you do? Wait in frustration? Kill everyone? Sit there bored and anxious, being able to do nothing and wishing you were back here with our mother? Stay here. Please, Venri, stay here. I will miss you every moment, but I won’t be worried that I’m going to get you killed.”

He growled in frustration and said “As though possibly getting me killed would be new. I think you should stay here while they try you in absentia and then get their shit together. Why do we always have to cater to someone else’s stupid?”

She said “Because I said I would. Because I take responsibility for my actions. Because it’s my own brand of stupid? You’re so good with people here. You’re in your element, you have charmed the everloving hell out of everyone that could help you with preparations. I need you here being charming and effective while I’m sitting on my ass wishing you were there with me.”

He said “Oh, you’re going to miss me. It’s going to tear your heart into bleeding shreds. It will be your fault. Self inflicted.”

She said “Tell me you’re staying here.”

He looked at her, his head swiveling quickly. He hadn’t actually said he’d agreed yet. He was trying to stall her, distract her. His eyes narrowed as he considered and then he said “You set time terms to leave, tell me when I can come break you out. Then I have a timetable.”

She said “Give me a month.”

He said “Three weeks.”

She said “Fuck it, two weeks. From me being taken into custody. Not me leaving Palaven. You can watch it all on the news. Catch me up on the highlights. Just a visit first. No immediate crime. We have ensured conjugal rights.”

He stroked a finger along her cheekbone and she turned her head to kiss the center of his palm. He looked at her for long moments and his face was impassive, though his eyes held storms. He said softly “Sold.”

She smiled gratefully, though she knew this wasn’t over. She stood up and brought a Kinril from a drawer on her side of the room. “I had something made for you. I asked Solona about Turian customs and she helped me. She said…that it’s intended for under the fringe. You guys don’t really wear ornamentation other than paint, so I can’t give you a locket, it wouldn’t mean the same thing…but this…” She brought out the curved wire with five silver metal spacers with tapered carnelian ribbons coming off them.

He tilted his head and stepped closer “A Kinril with…five…” She watched as his fingers trailed along the ribbons.

She said “You had fittings, they took measurements. It should fit.”

He trailed the ribbons through his fingers and touched the spacers and then turned. Garrus said “Did Solona tell what it meant?”

She said “Some of it, but I imagine she left some things out. Would you tell me the story?” She began to slide the fittings to lock into the bases of his flaring fringe, and straightened the ribbons of color out along the tapered corridors to the tips. When they were in the right place she could take the wire off, which would cause a reaction, making the color permanently bond with his plates. The spacers would remain wedged into the emerging arches of his fringe.

He said “The original color was blue. The story is of a woman going to war, leaving behind her bond mate. A Turian embrace between bond partners is often arms around each other, one hand with fingers under the fringe. During their final embrace she had cut her fingertips with a claw and painted her blood under his fringe, so he would know she was with him.”

She said “Did she come back to him?”

He said “Probably not. She story doesn’t say, but I imagine if she came back it wouldn’t have become a tradition. Kinril came about as a way for a woman to mark her bond mate beyond duty. Something not for the community, something for him.”

She said “Something for you.” She took her time making sure everything was in place, fit and the color was even. She ran her fingertips over and under his fringe before saying “Is that comfortable? I don’t want it to pinch.”

He smiled and bent his head, testing along the bases of his fringe, working the spacers into position with fingertips and turning his head to test motion. “Just like that.”

She said “Okay.” She removed the wire and said the traditional words “From my hand to your heart.” She added “I’m leaving, but you will always have something from me, something of me, with you. Some of my blood is in that coloring. You also have my promise that nothing will keep me from you when my purpose is fulfilled. My purpose is you.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She’d left Palaven. She’d said goodbye to her mother.

_Come back to us, Lineem._

She’d said goodbye to her father.

_I have obtained assurances from Admiral Hackett that you will not face capital charges or face a public scene. You are doing what is best. Be strong. We will see you again._

She had said goodbye to her sister.

_Morim, I don’t have a way with words, not like you have, not like Garrus has. Thank you for bringing me back my brother. Thank you for being my sister._

She had said goodbye to the meaning in her life.

_Venri, I will come for you. Soon._

She spent some time with her crew, the final leg of turning over their home to the Alliance.

_Don’t do this. Change your mind. Stay with me. Fight from Palaven._

She couldn’t spend too much time with her crew because she was the one requiring the most support and she didn’t want them to see her fall to pieces minute by minute, held together by stubborn.

_If you leave me, you will ache every moment and I won’t be able to spare you the pain._

She wouldn’t be able to hear him laugh.

_You called me frying pan, didn’t you? I looked it up._

She wouldn’t be able to hear his stories.

_I called you a heartless bitch. I swear._

She wouldn’t be able to look at him while he slept. She wouldn’t feel his hands reach for her in the darkness.

_Each time you move, you’ll know what you’re missing, what you left behind._

He’d bitten her, hard. He’d cut her. She’d put her hands to the back of his head, to his hands, to make them deeper. In Reverie it had been starbursts of sensation. In sober solitude it was a reminder she’d wanted as much as he’d wanted to give it to her. She felt the healing wounds like the marks of brands when she moved, when she sat. Her thighs, her back, her shoulders. She was going to take her nails to them later, open them again when she couldn’t sleep. She would bleed, and she would ache, and she would cry, and she wouldn’t talk to him. She let him know in text that all was well and declined seeing him face to face, voice to voice. Her frayed and tenuous string of necessary purpose was unraveling. He’d thought he’d failed to convince her to stay. She knew better. She knew she was always half a heartbeat from begging Jeff to change course. She had to clench down on the nearest table, the nearest chair, to keep from doing it. He had convinced her over and over and over again. If she heard his voice, she’d go to him.

_You love me more than you could ever hate me for trying to keep you with me. Come for me, Bakan. Show me how much you’re going to miss me._

When the jump to Earth was finally over she had been relieved. She had nothing but time, nothing but regret, nothing but emptiness. The rebound away from love and warmth had turned her to ice. Her only solace was the locket he’d given her. She didn’t dare listen to his recorded voice.

_You are going to wake up from nightmares of me being gone, reach for me and I won’t be there._

Now she’d still have time, still have regret and emptiness, but she’d have a locked door and nobody to order to take her back to him. It would be done.

_Don't. Go._

Handing over the Normandy was anticlimactic. They’d had an escort from Palaven since the risk of her being attacked was so high and Palaven Command didn’t want to be held responsible for being the last known location of the Normandy. She’d said her goodbyes to the crew, left Jeff to explain technicalities. After she’d walked off the ship, options behind her, she’d made a call to him on her Omni Tool and he’d answered immediately.

Shepard: I love you. I’m turning myself in.

Garrus: Come home, Venri.

Shepard: I love you. It’s too late.

Garrus: It’s never too late, Venri. I will be there soon.

Shepard: I love you.

Hackett had met her to explain the situation, the setup, the intention. She didn’t care and barely listened. There was nothing unusual or unknown about what he was saying. She said “The Alliance has a brief window in time during which they can decide whether or not to be fodder for Reapers. I am here by my own choice and I will wait for you to make your choice.”

Hackett listened quietly and said “What happens here isn’t up to you.”

She said contemptuously “Of course it is. You have a chance, take it. Nothing will keep me here if I don’t wish to be kept. You have your ship. You have your scapegoat. Convince me to stay and fight for the Alliance. I don’t think you understand who is on trial here. At a certain point depending on how much the Alliance stands in my way, how many are indoctrinated, I’ll have to kill Alliance personnel before the Reapers do in order to save the people who are dedicated to the real fight.”

Hackett had wisely decided not to further converse. She was taken without drama to a small room. The room was shielded, no communication in or out. She still had her Omni Tool, but no Extranet. She was alone with her thoughts. She'd declined to answer questions, having turned over her meticulously prepared statements and reports to a lawyer of excellent reputation, recommended by Liara.

There was nothing to do but wait. She’d done a viciously hard thing to do and she was heartened that she’d had the strength to do it and hadn’t failed. She’d have liked to have had the strength to talk to him, but that was a goal for the future. In a life together they would be separated and she needed to stand up to that. She turned her attention to that future once her task was done. She started her incarceration by sleeping straight for nearly two days. She woke up tired and haunted by nightmares and distance. She eventually noticed food and started eating mechanically.

_Spirits forbid you take care of yourself._

I’m trying.

The emotional loneliness featured the experiences of grief and the idea that she'd done the wrong thing, folding in on each other endlessly. The physical withdrawal from his company was a constant nauseating buzz of imperative speculation in her head. This wasn’t a new way for her brain to function, just a new target. She had obsessively calculated all the ways she could get to him. She knew she could do it. Her mind had plan upon plan upon plan to get out, to which she had to say no minute by minute. She embraced these sensations as superior to despair. This would pass. She turned back to questions of command. She wouldn’t abandon duty for personal gain. She would see this through. This was a step in a plan. The plan continued. There was a future to fight for in each moment. Sometimes the best action is taking no action, and doing nothing could be harder than doing something.

She wouldn't be weak.

She wouldn't be demonstrably weak.

Please forgive me, Garrus.

Garrus

Garrus bristled at having to wait. The trip to Earth, the security clearances to see her were maddening. It was partly his fault, as he'd eliminated a lot of his own biometric data himself, then disappeared for two years, then he had been a pirate, and now his name according to Palaven was Shepard. His anger at the stupidity of the Council, at the stupidity of the Alliance flared. All the things she'd done, and for the sake of the Batarians she was being sacrificed. He knew she cared about Batarian lives but as far as he was concerned the majority of the galaxy could go up in flames if it meant her freedom. All the things she could be doing instead, for the Alliance, for Palaven, for him, swamped his thought process. He wouldn’t have it. His talons tightened into baskets of tension and he tried to count slowly to keep his calm, but then decided his calm wasn’t going to get him what he wanted. After weeks of worry she was right there, past that door, past that human.

She wasn’t the only one that could utilize threats. He stepped deliberately up to the very nervous desk clerk who was busy checking his authorization and delaying his visit and said quietly “I am Commander Shepard’s husband. She has potentially saved every damned life on this otherwise ungrateful planet twice. She wants to do it a third time or she wouldn’t be here. She deserves better and I deserve better and I’m going in to see her. I will not hurt her."

_Liar_.

"Do not come in or send someone in after me. I will come back out in my own time. You have a choice. I can kill you to get to her, or I can walk by you. I’d prefer to walk by you because killing you would take time I could otherwise spend with her. I’m going to start walking. If you stop me, the first choice kicks in. If someone else tries to come in before I come back out, I may also choose to kill them for interrupting me. Am I clear?”

The man at the desk turned visibly paler and Garrus considered that a good sign. He would rather not be shot in the back. The man must have known he couldn’t have made it this far without clearances. He was famous enough in his own right and definitely associated with her. After confirming a terrified look and a microscopic nod, Garrus walked forward and hacked the door lock, thinking it was a crappy security setup and that she should have been able to break herself out in no time. Which made him realize, of course she could. His bravado dammed up against his worry and suspicion.

Opening the door he found her on her bunk with her forearm over her eyes. He closed the door quietly behind him, but he knew she couldn’t have missed the sound. She was always vigilant to every noise and bump of a ship in flight, of any sound that could represent a threat. The loss of those sounds and the loss of her freedom were a worse prison than that crappy lock.

It was a bare room on inspection. To someone accustomed to a ship, it would be serviceable. A closed door to a presumed bathroom. A bunk, a table, a chair. An infuriating woman on said bunk.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. He gathered his thoughts, grabbed the chair, turned it around and sat backward on it. He said grimly “Tell me you didn’t do something stupid.”

Her smile faltered on her lips, but she was so glad to see him that it stayed in her eyes. She closed her eyes against his condemnation and said “You know I did.”

He sighed heavily. “No, Morim. You can’t.”

She sat up and leaned forward, putting her hands over his, where he clenched the edge of the chair. “I have to. My whole job is to save lives. I’ve given myself up. I’m going to face trial in order to prevent war. To prevent more death." Her voice brightened fractionally. "And I can do it by sitting on my ass, so it’s a good deal.”

He didn't buy for a moment her attempt to reassure him. He growled. “You can’t. I won’t let you. We’re getting out of here. If I have to…”

She leaned her forehead to meet his and interrupted him. Her warmth shot through his body and he faltered, just being able to touch her was all he could feel, the edge of desperation fading momentarily from contact. His hand lifted and cradled the back of her neck. He had been afraid the marriage was a final gesture, the Kinril a goodbye. He had been afraid she'd be entirely gone and he wouldn't be able to get to her, she wouldn't let him near. It would be entirely in her character to go to jail, tell him to live his life without her after having given him everything she had to give. Fuel for fresh nightmares. Not enough of a fear to act on, but enough of a fear to corrosively make him afraid of all the very real ways he could lose her. She hadn't lied to him, but she'd walked straight into danger again, without him. He took a deep breath to calm himself, soak her in. She was his, he was hers, they were here. Despite the stupidity of the situation, having her voluntarily hold still could be to his advantage. He drew out the time of touching her, listening to her heart beat, and counted those blessings. Then he said "I don't know why I save your ass so often if the result is that I want to kill you myself."

He was so angry at her and so overjoyed to see her that it seemed to knot in his hands and give them a will of their own. He stood up, kicked the chair back and then picked her up, the fastest way to get her mouth to his. Her legs wrapped eagerly around his waist and he was reassured she wasn’t angry at him, or not angry enough to deny him this. Anger and gratitude blended again in his voice as he said roughly “Tell me you missed me.”

She took moments from kissing him to say “I missed you so much that seconds seemed to get longer and hold more missing you.”

He said “I want to kill you, Morim.”

She said “Okay, just kill me after.”

He choked on a laugh that turned into a growl and gave her room to take off her pants and open his, but he pulled her back before she could take off her shirt, wrapped her in his arms and shoved her against the door he’d come in through, which opened in. He kept one hand behind her head, tightening in her hair and one hand supporting her at the height he needed her. They wouldn’t be interrupted if nobody could open it. He didn’t care who heard.

He slammed into her with the anger he felt and heard her strangled shriek, causing a deep growl to travel through his chest in satisfaction. She made him so angry and desperate and he slammed into her again each time he thought of something she made him. Reverie trickled into his mind and body like sand from an hourglass. It magnified his anger instead of dispersing it. Passion. Reverie favors passion. He set his teeth to her throat and growled “Don’t… leave… me… again…” with a pause between each word, intent on impaling her. She leaned her throat to the side to give him better access and she said “I… can’t… promise…” He bit down harder. Fury on top of lust on top of fear on top of the combined despair and admiration that she was still this fucking stubborn flared out his thoughts. He said “Shut… up… I’m… being… romantic… you… LIKE… romantic…” She cried out with each punishing stroke and said “I… like… yes… please…” He was home. Spirits, Venri, what you do to me. The edge of anger and that thin hard line of hating what she did when she left him swirled through how much he wanted her. He wanted to fuck the sense out of her until she cried, until she begged, until she fell apart. He wanted her to say she wouldn't be this stupid again. She'd be lying. He wanted to share the gutting edge of how much he had missed her. He wanted blood, and he got it, biting at her throat, licking along the edges of her collarbones and her cheeks. She wanted him, and he gave himself to her, who he was in this moment, savage. Her body and voice asked for more, voracious. Her hands were frantic, her eyes closed, tears squeezing through the corners.

She hadn't left him, never to return. She was here. Watching her face he knew she wasn’t in pain, but she would be. She would have trouble walking after that. Good, you evil fucking bitch, I love you so much. He’d been merciless before she’d left, taunting her with what she’d miss, nearly sure he’d convince her to stay, unwilling to let her go without trying. He’d left bites on her, slashes on her, to remind her, and he’d seen on her thigh that they were still there. On her throat as well, the same marks. Spirits, she’d torn them open, kept them open. With how quickly she healed she’d have had to do it every day. He had left marks on her back also and he took the hand that was behind her head and used it to shred her shirt off, finding the raised wounds on her skin with fingertips.

You kept them all open. So I was angry and you were…

You were in constant, withdrawing pain and you never hit back.

It should have calmed him but it made him even angrier at her, curled in tight against the familiar helplessness of battering himself against this woman until he broke and she didn't. She came so close to breaking. At least I can get you so close you can't tell the difference between the two. His fingers tested the marks on her back. He licked at her throat and he thought of the marks on her thighs, withdrawing from her before he lost the power of all that focused, amplified anger.

She whimpered at the loss of him and his guts clenched at the sound. Spirits help me. He dropped to his knees and licked at the bite marks on her leg, feeling the trembling in her limbs. The bed's too far, Venri, stand there for me though you want to fall. I will never be able to touch you enough to make up for time lost. He held her upright with a hand on her stomach and used the other hand to spread her folds open wide. Mine. He closed his eyes and breathed on her clit, a puff of heat, a touch of his tongue. I know your body. I know how she works. I know how you work. His tongue lapped at her, pressing in his teeth to keep her open to him. Mine. He gave her time to give him words, pausing to give her the chance to agree, to beg. Yes. Please. Garrus. Don't stop. Please don’t… She was trembling and bucking so hard he had to let go of her stomach and held her hips with both hands, claws spread over her ass, digging into her skin. Reverie wouldn't let her feel pain but it was fading and he didn't give her time to rest or recover. She came and he didn't stop. Tell me no, I dare you.

He held onto the last words she was able to say, please don't. He held her pinned and worked out his anger and frustration against her body. Mine. Mine. Spirits, mine. Each whimper and tremble pulled a little poison out of him. Don't stay here. He'd set a ringing, angry thought to drive her from orgasm to orgasm. Walk out with me. Give me hope. I love that sound, I love that I can make you make that sound. Her voice got harsher and strangled, she couldn’t stop shaking. He shifted to nipping and licked at her thighs while she tried to catch her breath in ragged sobs. She didn't have words anymore and he was losing his. Please. Don't. He reassured himself that he knew her, knew her body, knew what parts of her mind he could fathom. Once more, please. His mouth moved from demand to invitation, beckoning. Shatter for me, only for me. After punishing demand it would take her a while to come for him gently. He hummed against her, audible encouragement and vibration. I'm asking you to dance. He imagined her face as she'd asked him to dance at their bonding, arm outstretched, beautiful marks that existed because of him. He took a hand from her hip and scratched along his chest, blooming scent and using fingers to paint her body with it. Mine. He took one of her hands, put it on his shoulder, held it tightly entwined with his fingers. She found him, gave him moans and trembles and after an aching, straining time, came again, shattered. She'd given him what he wanted. She'd cried. She'd begged. She'd broken, coming apart in his hands. She'd given him everything except the yes he wanted but he could feel her so close to it that it was trembling under her skin, she was straining with the effort to not give in. She wouldn’t give in, but she would give him everything else.

He pulled her down on his lap, not inside because he wanted her awake. He needed her eyes open, her voice her own. I missed you. He let out a raw cry of grief and loss and clutched her to him, nuzzled her throat, tasting unbroken skin, sweat and welcome. She whispered how much she'd missed him, how much she needed him, how much she wanted him. He reflected again that he was in uncharted emotional territory. Bonded to a human, he had no idea what was happening in his body, in his brain, but he knew it made him crazed. There was no elder to whom he could appeal, no Spirit with wisdom to help him through bonding not only to a human, but to her. She would let him show her what it meant. Being away from her was unbearable. The imperative to take her somewhere safe clanged through his head like a gong. With her words and her arms around him, he could let some of the greater fears fall away. She was here. She loved him. She hadn’t planned on leaving him. He felt a spurt of hope. Somewhere safe. They were somewhere safe. A thought threaded along the edges of that hope and he made a quick decision. He waited until he had strength back in his voice and his legs. He matched the pace of her hard breathing and said in the gaps "All right. You've made your choice. I've made mine."

She drew back to look at him, curious. Beautiful, marked, loved, curious.

He looked around the room skeptically. "This. Could work. I'm staying."

Both of her brows shot up. "You're…you're what?"

He repeated between harsh gasps of breath "I'm staying. It's possible. That I'm already. Under arrest. Anyway. For the way. I got in here."

Her arms came around him and he leaned on her, she leaned on him, until they got their breath back. By the way she was crying and holding him, he wasn’t going to get an argument. She wanted him here. Thank the Spirits. Give me this. Give me you. Let me make it work. I’m itching for a fight. Let me fight for you. He combed his hands through her hair and then leaned down to press his cheek to hers, his mandible at her throat. He said “I told him I wouldn’t hurt you, but I knew I was lying.”

She said softly "Is William on duty?"

He said "I have no idea. Just a pale human. Made paler by my threats. That was all I noticed."

She chuckled against his throat. "William is a nice guy. I've heard he checks IDs meticulously to make sure nobody gets through that can threaten Commander Shepard while she is voluntarily under house arrest."

Garrus laughed "I'm assuming William recognized me, if he is your fan, as I'm always off your starboard bow."

Her hand rested against the side of his throat, and they both sat in quiet communion while his pulse beat reassured her fingertips. She kissed him again and then said "Let me go reassure the young man I am still alive and discourage an armed response."

Garrus conceded and helped her stand before standing himself. It wasn't easy. "If it's voluntary house arrest, can we arrange for a different house?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the end through a variety of bullying, threats and William's staunch support after getting an autograph from Garrus, they did get a new house to be arrested in.

She had very little official support, none from the Citadel, other than that her Spectre status was not revoked. Anderson and Hackett had enough pull to make every concession to her incarceration happen, things she'd never have asked for herself. Garrus enjoyed negotiating for more, taking a page from his father's joy with the subject. "If you're going to make her a martyr, doesn't human history provide some sort of precedent for this sort of thing? Didn't your ancestors feed ritual sacrifice victims well and give them every luxury? She gets comm and Extranet privileges, any takeout menu she wants and she gets to choose who visits her. EDI provides you with records of her actions over the past year within reason including what we know of the Collector base, and you will have access to her Omni Tool data for her recorded mission to rescue Dr. Kenson. By. Personal. Request." This last was directed at Hackett. Garrus eventually suspected they were happy to do it. They were working like hell to get her out, and using the pressure from Palaven to best advantage.

When they were provided with a new location with every concession granted, Garrus followed up with a visit to Anderson. He used the harshest threat for the smallest request. An end to hostilities. “There’s a lot of data that news media or the Council would be interested in regarding Alliance disregard for human colonists, neglect of responsibilities, use of Alliance time and effort, and the fact that Kaidan Alenko was sent to spy on someone who was trying to help. She saved his ass, and he reported back that she was probably being manipulated by Cerberus. That might not look good, were it to get out. I think she likes flowers, don’t you? Let’s have fresh flowers every day while we’re at it. That seems reasonable. I can be very unreasonable, but I’m willing to negotiate for what I want. Saving everybody was hard work and we have some friends outside Alliance influence that might, say, murder you all, steal your tech and your creds, kill your children and skunk random drive cores for fun if Commander Shepard does not appear to be happy. They killed a bunch of Collectors and are rather irritated by her reception back into society.” Anderson had laughed and there were flowers from then on.

Eventually Garrus had everything he needed and his mind turned fully back to the war effort. He stayed in touch with command on Palaven, coordinating efforts he’d suggested to the task force he’d been authorized. He began to coordinate with Anderson rather than threatening him, spending time with Anderson and then Hackett, relaying requests and communicating with Palaven command.

The assumption was that they were monitored every moment, but they had been on the Normandy under Cerberus also. They knew what to do about monitoring. The only thing keeping her there was her own stubborn will and belief that she was doing the right thing, playing a long game. She was determined that the Alliance would sort things out, get its cumulative ass in the game after reviewing her testimony materials, and reinstate her. She was genuinely sorry for the loss of life at the Batarian colony, and used some of her Extranet time to research what the colony had looked like before being decimated. Schools. Roads. Families.

He looked over her shoulder at her research and slid his hand to rest on her stomach where she'd once had an impressive scar from where a Batarian had shot her, point blank, unarmored. His voice was light "Don’t we hate Batarians?"

Morim laughed. "Racist."

He snorted.

She learned the names of the streets, she learned the names of many of the victims, just as she'd learned the names of the ships destroyed by Sovereign, Alliance and otherwise.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Garrus’s arrangements for house arrest turned out to be wonderful and the best shore leave she’d ever had.

They spent time doing research, making plans and visiting with friends. Lots of time in bed. She’d finally been able to really sleep. EDI sent them an encryption suite that provided them with privacy and Kasumi made a few tweaks of her own, which involved glitch power outages at remote viewing stations and she claimed the recordings would turn out to be children’s cartoons when viewed.

Samara brought a plant with her, and then spent a bit of time sitting with Shepard with the plant. Garrus thought Samara’s insistence on communion with boredom was a bit weird, but killing your own daughters for 400 years had to take it out of your social skills.

Tali visited and Shepard and Garrus convinced her to bring Kal’Reegar along. They shamelessly pushed her into his arms with careful application of guilt over saving his life and building up her importance to the crew. Fortunately Tali and Kal were both relieved for the excuse to admit feelings and began a genuine courtship after.

Joker brought along a prodigious porn collection and had fun pointing out that Normandy-based porn was the newest thing and showed them something called “N69: Spectre Training” with a blue-painted Turian and a red-headed human with a penchant for domination. Garrus was laughing "Oh come on, she doesn't even have one of those, much less two!"

Joker mentioned Normandy porn (Pormandy) that involved a human, a Turian and a Drell and Shepard joked "Yes!" and Garrus shook his head "No" enough that it was never viewed.

When he left there was a vid sheet with a note “You guys should watch this on your own – J”

Garrus put it in the player and they watched a blurry and oddly angled but thorough vid of them. It was in Engineering, down near where Jack usually was. Garrus pressed Morim against a stack of boxes, lifting her to sit on one, kissing her throat. Her hand was on his shoulder, her expression languid and ecstatic.

Shepard raised a brow.

They didn't tear their eyes from the vid, but Garrus raised a hand and she gave him a high 5. She had taught him the gesture. He called it a high 3.

“Nice.” She said.

He watched a little longer while on the vid his hand massaged her breast, red streaks blooming from her skin. “We should do that again.” He said.

She agreed. “Right now would be good. We’ve got to make more of these vid sheets for morale. It’s our duty.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Once the security was more reliable, she started doing more sensitive research, and brought her files up to date on the criminals she had released from Purgatory. Many of the inhabitants had died, but she was responsible for letting the rest loose. She gathered together information threads from Liara, Aria and every source she could find, and developed files on the survivors. Some had entirely disappeared, some had died in flame outs of their own, some had died in entirely mundane ways. Some were still alive and she had the time to make some plans. Sometimes it just took a tip to a local authority. Sometimes she arranged for huge bribes for information. She whittled down the number of active agents that could do harm, but determined to handle more of them when she got her ship back. She couldn’t find Thane and although that wasn't altogether unexpected, she regretted not setting up more reliable communication methods before letting her crew scatter beyond her reach.

Garrus asked her about twice a day to leave with him. She'd asked him to be patient with her choices, and he managed that more or less. Not to where he stopped asking or trying to persuade her, but enough that she thought that maybe he wouldn't knock her out and kidnap her on his own. He was a persuasive guy, asking her to do something she really wanted to do. She'd be very upset if she had to knock him out in return and steer them both back here. He had procured spare IDs and a safe house ship, enough cash for bribes and an impressive cache of weapons, food and necessary survival items for different environments in case they needed to move often. She wouldn’t let it go to waste. He’d made good use of the time he spent on Palaven making his own plans and preparations. He was determined to break her out and take her away. He was adamant about her not facing the same disregard and abuse she'd had before, after the death of Saren, which had nearly gotten her killed. She asked him to have a little faith, if not in the goodness of humanity, than at least in her inherent utility and his sense of duty. She hadn't lost faith in the idea that she was needed and that she would be released. Luckily it seemed more likely as time went by judging by the updates from her lawyer, the news and the political climate Garrus was creating with Anderson’s and Hackett’s help. She had kept faith, it was paying off, she would stick it out.

In the course of reopening the same disagreement about leaving she had taken his hands and tilted her forehead to his. She had said softly "I know what we could do. I know that the Reapers take hundreds of years to harvest. We could hide. We could escape, I know we could. We could live out our lives together, far away from conflict. We could have that, we could take it in our hands right now and run. They're coming, Garrus, you know that. They're coming for everyone. They're coming for Earth, they're coming for Palaven. Everyone we know might die and die soon, fighting. We can't miss that. We are the ones that know the most, that can do the most, that have done the most. They need us. If we left, if we escaped, that would be bliss. But we'd feel guilty, we'd want to know what happened, we'd wonder what we could have done if we'd had a little more faith. I want to be with you more than anything, but I want to be with you the way we are now. Strong. Determined. Dangerous. If we run away, if we hide, we'd be weak, frightened, useless. Neither of us could bear that. Not for long. I'm asking you to believe in our strength, our determination, our pure kick-assery potential to make a difference one more time. Just one more time. Please. I need you."

He had closed his eyes, sighed and said "Being reasonable and inspiring is no fair in an argument."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They spent long hours joined in Reverie, spent time asleep while joined, nightmares banished for her. Now that they had time together, they’d spent as much time as they could touching, watching a vid or playing a game in their spare time between visits and the work they had both taken upon themselves. He wasn’t as good with a virtual rifle as she was in one of her favorite games and she gave him shit over his aim.

“There’s an old saying about sides of barns…”

“Shut up, Shepard. I don’t know what a barn is, but these controls make it impossible.”

“It’s a poor Turian who blames his tools.”

“About that shutting up…it’s a shame friendly fire isn’t enabled.”

He tried to teach her to dance, but Turian dances were still too much for her, and most of them ended up with laughter. She couldn’t handle the athleticism without risking breaking something. He told her that he’d have to try human dances first, things built for her legs.

She spent time singing and there were a few close harmonies they could manage together, though his sense of pitch was not all that clear, having never put his throat to the same acrobatics as she had. They were working on a round, “Dona Nobis Pacem.”

What they’d worried about, waited for, sacrificed for, happened. Palaven was targeted. Massive Reaper signs were unmistakably bearing down. Scouting ships were being lost and communication was becoming unreliable. They knew what to do, and it only took the will to do it.

The idea of separating now was on the order of having to accept an impossibility, but she was right about their role in the war. Palaven needed him now, and he needed to leave while he could still arrive before all travel was impossible. He checked in with their family. Avah was away for treatment in another system, Tensir and Solona on planet but planning to move from Cipritine as it would be an obvious first target. When Morim was reinstated, she could help him, but Garrus had to go now. He had faith she would be restored, having had enough private assurances from Hackett and Anderson.

There were too many ifs. If they released her. If she was reinstated. If Earth wasn’t attacked while she was helpless. If he could get to Palaven at all. If he could help at all. If they both survived the early stages of what they had planned. If they would see each other again.

Anderson assured Garrus he could get her out to address the Defense Committee. Finally. It wasn’t her own command, but it was something significant, she wouldn’t be a sitting target in a locked room. The Batarians were no longer a threat of war because the Batarians were the first target of the Reapers. Communication with them was gone. They had made all the choices they could make together, and now they had to take action apart.

Before he left he said “You could come with me. We could go together. When the Alliance figures things out, they can come pick you up.”

She said “I want to. More than anything. I can’t abandon Earth. Would you stay here with me, and wait? You’re going to need all the help you can get, and I could have a ship.”

He pressed his forehead to hers “I will see you soon. Keep yourself as safe as I would keep you.”

She said. “It’s in the hands of the Gods now.”

He lifted her chin and smiled. “Not Gods, Venri, Spirits. Gods are fickle and uncaring. We have Spirits. The Spirit that brought you back to me. The Spirit that has kept us alive. The Spirit that will bring us back together. We choose to be those Spirits. We will not fail. We have too much…” his voice broke off on a wobble.

She smiled and said “Kick-assery?”

He kissed her and brought his forehead to hers. “Yes. Too much kick-assery to allow things any other way. They will be very, very sorry that we chose to be apart so that we could be the best we could be together.”

They’d both learned the lessons of faith and hard work. She didn’t cry until he left. He felt the need to grip the seat he was in on his first shuttle, to keep from bolting out of it and back to her. He buried himself in what intel he could gather from Palaven’s preparations.

She was let out of house arrest and given an office to help with testimony and preparations. She didn’t have long to wait until she spoke to the Defense Committee, and Earth was under attack herself.

This time she missed him, but she wasn’t tortured by thinking she’d done the wrong thing. This time she was definitely on the right path, and she had been all along.


	17. Chapter 17

Timeline: Beginning of Mass Effect 3

Priority: Mars

Shepard

She was horrified to see the man’s face, he looked like a husk. She moved in to check and said “They’ve definitely done something to him.”

Kaidan was staring at him “And by they, you mean Cerberus? They did this to their own guy? Is this what they did to you?”

Morim took a deep breath. Was it because she was so accustomed to horror that she didn’t have the right horror in her tone and she took indoctrination for granted? Did Kaidan expect her to cry? Maybe she should have cried. Too late now. 

Liara said “Kaidan, that’s not fair.”

Kaidan took a step back and glared at them one at a time and said “So both of you? I should be able to ask the question!”

Morim said “You have asked the same question for a good long while, Kaidan. You need to trust me and I need to trust you. Fortunately I do trust you because you are trustworthy. What I want to ask is why do you think I’m untrustworthy?”

Kaidan said “I…it’s not that. You I trust.”

She said “It’s that you don’t know that I’m me.”

Kaidan said “Yeah, look at this guy. Do you think he knew he was going to turn into that? Did they tell him or did it just…happen one day and he was too indoctrinated to know that he was more monster than human?”

She said “What you’re asking is entirely fair. We can take a moment and address it. Unfortunately the answer isn’t easy, or fair. What are you looking for? Do you expect me to say ‘All hail the Reapers’? Are you looking for me to slip up? What qualifies as a slip? Am I okay until I start to turn blue and shiny? There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can show you, to prove I’m not indoctrinated. The fact that I spent months in custody and they let me go means nothing? The fact that I have a ship and a command means nothing? The fact that Liara is with me means nothing? The fact that James told you I was under surveillance means nothing? The fact that Anderson gave the Normandy to me and not you? What can I do, Kaidan? If I pull my heart out of my chest and show it to you, and if it shows no signs of indoctrination, you can say that’s not proof that I’m not indoctrinated. I can’t prove a negative. I can't have you doubting me in a critical moment that may or may not get you or me or someone else killed. You have no indoctrination test to run. You don’t want to be betrayed, and believe me, I understand that feeling. I need to get a job done and sometimes I have to trust that an assembled team shares a common motive, even if I don't trust them otherwise. That was my entire buildup to the Collector base. You were there. You saw how that worked or how it didn't work for me. I can't afford to turn down allies that can potentially help me. I need everyone to fight with me. I can’t be as picky as you seem to think you can be. If we don’t work together, we are going to die. I have to work with the assets I have, not the assets I want.”

Kaidan’s face fell during the course of her words, reassembled and he said “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do that would be proof, and that’s not your fault.” He paused and thought for a few moments. “I do promise you though, as much as I don’t want to…I will shoot you, Shepard, if you turn blue.”

She said with a smile. “I’d expect nothing less. You were always stubborn, Kaidan.” 

He said “Me?” but his voice was shot through with humor.

Liara said kindly “Yes, you. Kaidan, you missed a lot. So did I. Think about it. Everybody is a target for indoctrination. There’s no reason why you couldn’t be indoctrinated also, or do you think that high ranking officers of the Alliance are immune to targeting? You think Shepard isn't also watching you, watching me, watching everybody, including herself? She just doesn't do it in a way that interferes with the mission.”

He said “Okay. I’ll go along with that. You’re already blue, Liara, so it might take a little longer to figure out if you're indoctrinated. I concede that you might have to shoot me if I am and I don't know it myself. If I have to shoot you ladies…I’ll be sorry to do it.” He was admitting defeat, it was in his tone.

Morim said “You can try it, Alenko. I don’t like your odds.” She was smiling.

He said “Tell me about it. This is not the first time the two of you have ganged up on me.”

Liara said “I’m allowed to touch her ass now.”

Morim said wryly “You said you wouldn’t tell.”

Kaidan narrowed his eyes “Wait, you two? I thought you and…”

Morim said “Me and…?”

Liara said “No, you’re right. It’s not me. It’s Garrus.”

Kaidan said “Yeah, well. I’d heard. The tattoos? They’re Turian?”

Morim nodded “We were married recently.”

Liara said “It was a lovely ceremony.”

Kaidan said “It isn’t hard to believe, it isn’t a surprise. The two of you were always…I’m…I’m jealous as hell, but… well, if I’m going to trust you, and I do, I should admit…” He trailed off and then shook his head, refocused. “Thanks for working with me, Shepard. I won’t let you down. I’m glad you had Garrus to back you up, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’ll try to fix that now, if you’ll let me.”

Morim said “Of course I’ll let you, Kaidan. We need you. Last I talked to Garrus, he was fine, and hopefully he’s on Palaven, and hopefully he’s alive and perforating Reapers. I know better than to bet against him. Comm is down now, but we'll go there as soon as we can and track him down. He's focused and we need to do the same. He and I have decided that if our lives are going to be interrupted, we are going to kick the ass of everything that gets in our way. Now that we’ve assured ourselves that we’re all terribly attractive, we're all watching each other, we all have reasons to fight together, and that I win because I have Garrus, or at least theoretically still have Garrus if he’s alive…can we continue?”

Kaidan said “Of course, Shepard. I’m sorry. He's an impressive soldier. He helped me customize my pistol grip.”

Morim said “That’s not a euphemism for anything, is it?”

Liara laughed and Kaidan said “Shepard, I’m gonna blush.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard sat with her elbows on the edge of Kaidan’s bed. “Kaidan. Wake up so I can tell you to stop getting your ass kicked. It’s important. You need to hear this. This wasn’t the mission and we have to finish the mission. You look like a giant stomped on you with cleats, you know. It looks good on you. You know you’re a handsome man. Kaidan. Get up. There’s more danger and you don’t want to miss that, right?” She took his hand and held it to her forehead. “I know you’re in there, I know you can hear me, and I’m going to be bossy. Think about it, Kaidan. You can’t let that silver bitch win. I’ll track you down in the afterlife and I’ll make fun of you. Yeah, you heard me.” She put his hand back down carefully on the blanket. “I don’t know if you believe in a God, I never asked. I wish I had thought to ask. I hope Ashley is praying for you. Ashley if you are listening, I know you possibly outrank me now but I don’t care. Please help. I hope a God somewhere believes in you enough to bring you back. Whoever is out there, please listen. Bring this man back and take away his headaches. I am going to die someday and I’ll have plenty of time to figure out if someone is in charge. I’ll find you.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Palaven

Garrus

She was alive. There she was, right there. He heard her voice and though it was rough and tired and angry, it was beautiful. "I need someone, I don't care who, as long as they can get me the Turian resources we need." The sound spread through his mind and blood like a balm to all that ailed him. She was here. Their plan had worked and although he himself was rough and tired and angry, that fire in his gut that had burned without fuel flared into a sustaining heat. A hope that had been waning was shored up by her presence. He had a momentary burst of peace that cleared the wreck of his motivation and restarted it. He began to feel that things were finally 51% in his favor. There were no more doubts about the Reapers. They would not need to hide. They would win. If they'd made it this far, they would win. He was sure of it.

Reality crashed back in as he heard the gunfire and destruction around him, but it couldn't stop him from being overjoyed. Behind that joy was the need to kill some things in the best company he could muster. He said "I'm on it Shepard. We'll find you the Primarch."

She saw him and her face was unreadable, but her voice…"Garrus." Her voice.

General Corinthus pulled his attention reluctantly away from her "Vakarian, sir. I didn't see you arrive."

He answered "At ease, General."

He saw her try to decide what to do…tackle him? No. People were dying, there was a mission to do, but they could do it near each other. "You're alive." She stepped forward as though she couldn’t help it and he held her hand in his, and then brought his second hand to touch hers as well. "I'm hard to kill. You should know that."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

He'd said “Are you kidding? I’m right behind you.”

And he was.

With all the horror going on, she shouldn’t be giddy, but that was too bad, because she was too giddy to do anything about it. He was here. They’d gotten it done. Horror she was used to. This feeling she had was life sustaining and she needed every moment of it.

So the hard part was done, let’s just go kick everything else’s ass. You’re right behind me. Earth is on fire. Palaven is on fire. Our family, our people, they need us. 

It didn’t make her sad, it didn’t make her cry, it made her so angry that it was good there were things to shoot.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, on a shuttle

James: It’s good to kick some ass with you, Mr.…sir…Vakarian? What the hell do I call you anyway? Not to be disrespectful, I’m just used to rank.

Garrus: Garrus is good.

James: Thanks. You can call me Mr. Vega.

Shepard: He called me Commander even if he wasn’t supposed to. I don’t think rank is that much of an issue for James.

James: Yeah, but I’m supposed to call you that now, so look who’s right in the long run? Anyway, I think you look like a Lola.

Garrus: I think she looks like my wife.

Shepard: And there it is.

James: Hey! For real? Felicidades! You guys on your honeymoon or what?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

He’d paused to speak to Primarch Victus before making his way to the rest of the ship, and Morim had to speak to Hackett. He’d told Victus he was heading to the Battery, but that was not happening yet.

He went up to their quarters and despite the fact that the ship had been gutted and rebuilt, she’d already thought of adding his authorization, so he didn’t have to hack his way in.

No fish. No hamster. No ship models. Yet.

It was good that he always came onto this ship with close to nothing if not nothing other than a rifle and always left with more than he’d imagined. He'd continue that tradition gladly.

She’d found clothes for him, replacements for the things he liked, and put them where he’d kept them before. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to be able to cry. How odd that humans had an emotional valve like that, chemistry in tears. Thinking of it that way, it was almost Turian.

He was through and through exhausted, the nonstop battle, the new inrush of hope. He’d been scoured clean of everything that had happened up until now, and only now was of interest. He stripped and stowed his gear, took a shower and got into bed. He could finally sleep without fear, and he knew she would find him.

He woke with her mouth at his ear and her hand around his waist, the reverse of so many nights spent together, his body cradling hers, whispering to her as they both fell asleep.

"Please" she said with a wealth of meaning invested in a simple word. She took the measure of him, physically, intellectually, emotionally, carried him to his limits and demanded more, and he found he had it for her. To be near her, to touch her, to smell her, to be on a ship that was hers, with people they could count on, with people he could tell that he was hers. Please.

There was nothing more to ask. Please, Venri, fight by my side. Please, Venri, be with me. Please, Venri, stay with me. They were done. The rest would be in doing, all the important questions answered. She knew he was awake now. His breathing pattern changed, she'd told him. She could always tell. Something he'd never have known about himself if she hadn't told him. Please, Venri, please say please. 

She'd gotten him a Turian pillow, a half moon shape with a thin upper arch of reinforced foam to protect his fringe so he could sleep or turn without awkwardness or pain. He could turn to her, but instead he pulled her by the arm as he moved to his back, until she was on top of him, her body finding the curves and planes where she was comfortable and he wasn't afraid he was puncturing her in several places. Not that she minded puncturing, but he preferred if it were intentional rather than by accident. 

Voracious. That was a good word for her. Demanding. That was another. She could command him with a glance she expected him to interpret, or run her fingers lightly over his skin and plate edges as though he were made of frost that would melt and never be seen again, something fragile to be revered. All the ways she saw him corresponded to all the ways he saw her, from lust to obeisance, often thrown together so his hands felt the fragility of her hair between his fingers as he took care to not pull it, while he drove into her until she lost the focus in her eyes.

She watched him with a smile and she rested her chin on his sternum blade so she could meet his eyes. She said “Where is our family?”

He answered “Safe when I left them. I don’t know right now. We’ll find them. I have access to all the information we can use to find them. When we find them we can protect them. I can do it from here. Avah told me to find you, protect you. She told me to tell you when I found you that I am here on her orders and that you must not contradict her.”

She nodded, tipping her head forward with her chin on his chest. His hands sifted through her hair “We will find them. We did it. We still have a lot to do, but we did it.”

He said “We did it. And now we can do the rest together. I have been a little distracted, what with running for my life and trying to kill things much bigger than I am, but I have missed you.”

They were carefully skating the thin layer of wellbeing, trying not to crash through into the individual horrors they had been mired in since last seeing each other. For right now, let’s be in right now.

She smiled. She was tired, her face was masking pain and exhaustion. Precious. Her smile was precious. She said “Venri, I have missed you.”

His heart squeezed in his chest. He stroked her hair back and said “Let’s forget everything outside this room. For now. Let’s catch up over lunch tomorrow, or dinner next week. We will have tomorrow and next week. For right now, there is just you. Just me. Just here.”

The air rushed out of her in relief and her smile strengthened. “Okay.”

He said “Let’s say some obvious things, get them out of the way. So…I think you’re beautiful.”

She tilted her head and said “I think you’re sex in blue.”

He said “We’re getting fancy, huh? All right. I think the thought of you makes my heart beat.”

She said “I think you should kiss me before I have to lunge. The sex thing was a hint.”

He said “Hey. I’m trying to be romantic here.”

She said “Time to shut up and make with the physical demonstrations of affection.”

He said “You sure? I have a sonnet ready to go.”

She laughed “You do not.”

He said “If you give me a minute, I could put something together.”

She said “Odds are it will be about guns.”

He put offense and hurt in his words “That’s something we share, something we do together. You can’t take it from me. Those are cherished memories.”

He took the opportunity to sit up while she was giggling, pushing his arms down and pulling back suddenly so she whooped and fell off him, giggling harder. He said “You’re really clumsy.”

She was naked on her back, a work of art in shadows, reds and creams. He reached out and put a hand on her exposed throat as she laughed, his hand against her skin. One of the first desires he’d had about her, to see a work composed of their skin together. She pulled herself up by grabbing at his arm and sitting up, twisting and turning until she was on his lap and he’d made room for her legs to curl loosely around his waist. He put his hands on her hips and she put her hands on his shoulders. She brushed her fingertips against the ridge on his chest and then drew her fingers over her cheekbones and collarbones and then settled her hands back on his shoulders. He watched her, memorizing her face, drinking in the presence that was like water now, necessary to life. They had all the time they needed to touch, all the safety and privacy they needed in this room.

Her fingers came off his shoulders to trace the lines of his face. Reverent. She was reverent. She’d said that humans occasionally would lie on the ground, soaking in the warmth of the sun. She called it sunbathing. She’d said she liked to Garrus bathe. Sit and commune. Bask. He liked to Shepard bathe. He sat and watched her as her face followed her fingers and she moved her fingers along every curve and line of him that she could find. He had a new buckled plate on the back of his left arm, she found it and her fingers lingered there. Her eyes, the lines of her face, darkened and deepened. It was a combination of how she looked in battle and how protective she was, but with the vulnerability of being naked in his arms and it took his breath away. Then she remembered and relaxed, but she couldn’t dispel all of her new mood, her features relaxed, but with a new layer of attentive focus. Just us. Just now. Stories later. There are truths and there are stories, and we choose truth in this moment.

When her hands moved back to touch places she’d already touched, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her throat under her jaw and breathed her in. Over time their mingled scents changed subtly and he familiarized himself who they were now. Battle had left her bloodstream while on Palaven and she had the sharp edge again to her. She curled her hand around his shoulders and then slid fingertips into the spaces where the Kinril lodged, then drew a fingertip back down through the inside of his fringe spikes, one at a time.

He nuzzled at her throat and touched the tip of his tongue to her skin, spice and her and a reason to draw in breath as she drew in hers. She pressed her fingertips again to the skin under his emerging fringe and her other hand fell to his waist as she dragged her nails over a particularly sensitive line of skin that caused him to groan. 

No more basking. 

His arms came around her to pull her closer and up to his mouth. He bent his head down to hers because she was pinioned between his sternum blade, breasts pressed to either side, his arms around her back. His arms were long enough to loop entirely around her back so his hands could move restlessly under her breasts. Her hands came around to capture his face and she kissed him, her tongue and lips gentle and soft on his mouth. Here they stayed for more long minutes, deliberately and tortuously slow, exploring and tempting. Uncontrolled ardor would be betrayed by a sharp hiss of indrawn breath or a groan or an unstudied quick movement. They were ridiculously competitive people and it had played into the ritual of making each other slowly crazy without showing a response, making the other escalate. It was a habit they had fallen into when they had hours and hours to spare, and it was a game to bring them back to familiarity with each other. He needed to convince her to spar again without killing him. He wanted her to try not to kill him with her marks. Project for a later time. Rules were rules and he couldn’t hide from her, so his plates opened and both her hands started to glide over his cock, an outrush of breath from him, a smile from her. He lifted her slightly and shifted her to ride a prominent ridged plate of his thigh, rocking her back and forth. She made one of her beautiful sounds. His memory flooded with all the sounds he wanted her to make again.

All thoughts of game fled and he considered it winning that he got to lift her from her position and guide his cock into her slick heat while she moaned for him. Make those sounds for me, Bakan. I won't stop until you make them, and then I won't stop until I hear them enough times to make up for waking from dreams, the feel of you evaporating from my imagination like frost never to be seen again.

Please.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus and Shepard had gone to Huerta to check in on Kaidan. She had also been able to see Thane, and she was overjoyed that he was here and that he was alive. Thane’s reserve had always been deep, and Morim likely wanted to hug him for an hour. Thane’s insistence on distance was against her nature. She wanted to drag him out of the hospital to talk, listen, spend time, but he insisted that he needed to stay at Huerta. He had given the excuse to watch over Kaidan, but Garrus had known that wasn’t the full story. 

Kaidan was recovering, conscious, though still in bad shape. Garrus had gone in with her to say hello himself, collected congratulations, then had left to give them some privacy. 

Garrus thought that Thane was in love with Morim and this was a way he could serve her without allowing his own desires come to the fore. Garrus saw it, recognized it, and he initially doubted that Morim would see it for what it was. Even if she had, what could she do? Ask Thane for truth? She would never ask even if she suspected. Thane would never tell her. The complexity of perceptive people who cared with intimate intensity and guarded each other with their lives swirled in his head for a disorienting moment. Thane and Morim were both too unpredictable in motive to know why they did what they did. They were, however, not lacking in perception. Thinking about it, he decided Morim did know. He decided she’d never let either of them suspect overtly in order to protect them both, Thane from being vulnerable and Garrus from feeling slighted. 

Thane spoke to Garrus while Morim was in talking to Kaidan. “Congratulations to you both on your bonding ceremony. She is vibrant at your side.”

Garrus said carefully “She is always vibrant. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Thane looked down and then met his eyes “You are already doing it.”

Garrus said “I promise you that nothing that can be done for her safety and happiness will go undone.”

Thane said “I have no doubts. Had I any doubts, I would have acted upon them.”

Garrus said solemnly “Lucky for me.”

Thane said in the same tones “Lucky for you, indeed. Had I met her first…”

It had taken Garrus a year to come to value Morim for who she could be to him. It had taken Thane less than a week. He corrected that thought. Less than a week before he showed it. He had imagined it instantly. Siha. Thane couldn’t help calling her that any more than Garrus had been able to help calling her Venri. That word encapsulated all he needed to know, all Morim needed to know. It wasn’t jealousy that gripped Garrus so much as admiration. Thane might have saved her from the Batarian’s gun. Thane would not have let her die on the Normandy and he would never have left her side. Thane no doubt knew she was a better dancer than she intended others to see. Who knew how many questions Thane had the answers to without letting it be known that he had asked them at all? Thane’s ruthless purpose and exacting methods would have served him well. No doubt Thane could have plotted a course efficiently and effectively to Morim’s heart and Garrus did not doubt it would have worked. Instead Thane had paused and waited for Garrus to catch up and pass him, aiding Garrus on his way. For her sake, because she wanted it. That was love. That was a profound love and set of skills worthy of her. Had he met her first. Garrus said “I would be congratulating you instead.” 

Thane said “And I would be dying, and she would be grieving. It is better this way.”

Garrus said “For my own part I am grateful for that. For your sake…”

Thane waved a hand “For my own sake I had a love, I have a son. I had them long before I appreciated them. I failed to protect them. You have not made the same mistake, though you lost her once. You do not let her go alone into danger unless she insists it be so. I hope for peace so that you both could have a family of your own. I will pray for you, for peace. For family.” He paused and his eyes were focused through the glass, thought defining the lines of his face. “You cannot help but see the state I am in, as it is close to your own heart. It is good that you see, that I wish you to see, that I consider you kindred. You bring her laughter, and she is lit from within with that joy. It is something I could not do for her, something she needs. That is rare enough in life and rarer still in those who deal in death. Do not tell her what you see, what I say here. It is also better that way.”

Garrus said “Don’t you think she should know?”

Thane said “No. It is a dying man’s wish to protect her from that, even moreso to protect me from that. She is not a woman of regrets, but she would grieve for my lost opportunity if she knew how much I had wanted to take it. She would want to change it. Not by loving me in return, but by wanting to convince me to be satisfied with what I have of her. What I have of her is of course considerable, but I am selfish. To tell it rather than to show it would make it seem a pale, lifeless thing. You understand. What I feel she cannot change except to try to diminish it to spare me from experiencing it. I might feel compelled to lie to her to comfort her. What I feel is mine. Allow me to take it with me to the far shore. Whole. Once you asked me to hold a secret for you, to tell in your own time. I ask of you the same. I will tell her by the shores if she finds me and asks then.”

Garrus said “She looked for you when she was on Earth.”

Thane said “I was on Earth as well, but unable to contact her directly without putting myself in jeopardy of being taken into custody, and her in jeopardy of being the cause of it. Had she required assistance that you did not provide…” Thane was silent for a long moment and then said mildly “If you fail her, I will find you on any shore.”

Garrus said “I would accept your judgment. I accept your charge and your kinship and I am honored by it. I hope Irikah is waiting for you. I will pray for your family as well. Your strength and dedication will remain an inspiration to those who remain, to me in particular.”

Whatever Thane might have said to that was lost as Morim returned to them and said that she was grateful Kaidan was doing so much better. Thane’s face had reverted back to his receptive, neutrally polite expression. Thane gave them both his blessing and promise of whatever continued service he could provide from his position. He refused gently her more emphatic invitation to come to the ship but promised to correspond and of course see her if she visited here. In public. Before witnesses. Garrus felt a slight shiver cross his spine during a shared look with Thane when her back was turned, and then they were gone, back out into the Citadel. 

The shiver left his spine but stayed in his mind. Odd that bonds so strong could form between creatures of different species when he’d never felt this close to another of his own species unless they were family. Those were bonds of circumstance, these were bonds of choosing. He couldn’t love Morim more, but he could feel the sacrifice Thane made for her, for him, and honor it, give it more meaning beyond the two of them. 

They did some shopping, and although she couldn’t find a hamster, she did find some fish. They had everything delivered so they didn’t have anything to carry. He wanted to show her a spot with a beautiful view of the arms of the Citadel, but it was out of the way. It took some trekking through the wards, and they were seedy as ever. He’d made the majority of his busts in this area. Unfortunately for him the Keepers had apparently closed off and repaired the narrow jagged alley leading back to a rent in the bulwark where there was an overlook. It was a shame. He presented the expanse of riveted metal before saying “Imagine…imagine a great view. Really…it was here the last time I was.”

She admired the entirely ordinary slab of metal and nodded. “No, I can see it. It’s a commentary of the changing times we live in.”

He shook his head and then said “Ah, well, fuck it. If there isn’t a view there’s something else.”

He picked her up and pressed her against the metal and started kissing her, happily and enthusiastically engaged in that for a long while until they heard a scrape behind them and he became alert but not still. Being still would give away that he was alert..

Her eyes darted behind his shoulder and then reassured him with a slight nod. He stood still and he heard a tentative voice “Hey…hey lady, you okay?”

A child’s voice. Human. So young it was hard to tell if it was male or female. Morim stepped out from behind him with a closed fist held behind her back. Signal for hold. He held. He didn’t turn around.

The child spoke again. He’d bet male. Human and Turian ages were comparable. He could tell from the sound and his visor he could estimate size and age. Twelve? Thirteen? The kid said “He’s not hurting you, is he?”

Morim said calmly “No, he’s not hurting me. He’s my husband.” Morim signaled for Garrus to turn around, so he did. He tried to look nonthreatening as much as he could, which was hard considering his height, the boy’s suspicion and the fact that as a Turian he could break them both in half in a few seconds.

The kid said “Really? You can do that? Did he make you do that?”

He smiled and Morim said “No, I had to ask him first. Not sure he would have otherwise, he is very popular with the ladies.”

The kid scoffed “Okay, well…uh. Yeah. Okay.”

This would be a good time for the kid to leave, having been reassured, but he stood there, awkward and stammering. Garrus started to get suspicious. Morim’s fist tightened and loosened, so he still held, but she knew something was up too.

Morim said carefully “Are you okay? Do you need help with anything?”

The kid stammered and said “Uh, yeah…right there’s…right. No, I’m just hungry or something. Something hungry, I’m hungry.”

The kid was a terrible actor. Garrus said “C’mon Morim, it’s a trap. He’s hungry, he takes you to a secondary location to buy him something, this great place he knows, with his favorite thing, and you’re in a Shepard cage.”

Morim scoffed and held out her fist, reiterating the signal “Of course it’s a trap, but he didn’t need to know that we knew that. Oh, hell, he’s gone.”

Garrus sighed and turned, pulling her hand and navigating his way back out, taking a different route than the one they used getting in. “So you were going to just go with him?”

Morim said “I have no idea what I was going to do. I was in the information gathering stage.”

Garrus said “The information is that a large majority of the population is trying to kill you. Do you need to know everyone’s first name?”

She said “I suppose not. I hear there’s a good place around here to eat, want to find it?”

He said “No, we’re leaving. Fish will get lonely.”

She muttered “Dammit. Can’t we at least let C-Sec…”

He said “Already done. But they’ll just get the kid from my pictures, he might lead to something, he might not. Most likely not, he didn’t seem to be the brains of the operation.”

She sighed “All right. Have I mentioned you’re no fun sometimes?”

He said “Have I mentioned you’re occasionally suicidal and far too easy to bait?”

She hmphed. “Yeah, you have. Now what am I going to do for fun?”

Garrus said “I’ve heard not dying is fun.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus passed through the echoing base levels of engineering, looking for a spare set of calipers that he thought he had seen down here before among the endless crates and containers. He heard a distinct “meep” noise and held still, wondering. Yes. There it was again. He recognized the sound. A little triangulation and a few tries and he had Morim’s hamster held in the loose cage of his hands, grateful for his gauntlets as the little monster had bitten at him at least four times on the way up in the elevator, selecting the Captain’s cabin with a bump of his elbow. He didn’t want to find out if a hamster could die from a massive allergic reaction to Turian blood.

He tapped his forehead on the door, not wanting to jostle his furry cargo. Garrus said “Room service.”

She called out “Come in!”

He said a little louder “Would you please get the door? Room service’s hands are occupied.”

Within a few seconds Morim’s voice got closer and she said as the door started to slide open “If you’re taking requests about how to occupy your hands…” and then stopped abruptly, looking at him quizzically and then following the gesture of his eyes down to the cage of his hands, a tiny fuzzy nose with frantic whiskers poking out between them.

She looked delighted “You got me another hamster?”

He gently transferred his prisoner into her hands. “I got you the same hamster.”

She looked up at him “Boo? This is Boo? You got me Boo?! How?”

Garrus tilted his head “His name is Boo? As in “Boo” scary?”

“No, as in Peek-A.” She said, nuzzling her nose against the hamster in her hands.

Garrus drank in the beautiful and the happiness in her voice, gratified, and then shook his head “Pica?” 

Shepard smiled. “No, Peek-A-Boo. It’s a game. He always comes out of his little house, leans up against the glass and then runs away.” She transferred the hamster into his waiting cage while she got him fresh water and food. She couldn’t stop smiling. As explanation she covered her eyes with her hands and then uncovered them again, her eyes wide comically. “Peek-A-Boo! You play it with babies.”

He watched her, amused. “Sounds like human babies are kinda dumb. Have I mentioned humans are weird?”

She smiled, hands falling to her sides as she tapped the side of the glass of Boo’s cage. “I had a hamster as a little girl. I loved her so much. All of my little girl soul poured into this furry little jot of adorable. I wanted to be best friends. A human and her familiar. So romantic.” She turned to look at Garrus and then said “But I realized before too long that she wasn’t my soul mate and it wasn’t romantic. She really just wanted to bite me and run away. Hard lesson. I still loved her, but I gave up trying to play with her and just took as much care of her as I could. Hamsters don’t live all that long. But I was still devastated when she was gone.” Her voice softened even further. “When I saw Boo on the Citadel, I couldn’t resist. I still know he wants to bite me and run away, but I can’t help wanting to give him the best little space hamster life I can. He can go to exotic places, look at fish, have a screaming head direct screams at him.”

Garrus interrupted and said “Let me throw that head out the airlock. I’m asking again. Nicely. Please.”

She said softly. “Never. James loves him. They will be life partners. Anyway. Boo doesn’t have to love me back. I can still want to…” and a tear slipped down her cheek, her voice choking off.

“I might bite you, but I promise I won’t run away.” He leaned down and nipped the flesh that corded along the side of her neck gently with just the tips of his teeth, grazing until his teeth almost met, then he touched his tongue to her skin. She sighed and leaned back against him as his arms came around her and crossed, drawing her back. 

The tension in her shoulders melted as she leaned back with that wholehearted trust that humbled him. She smiled and said “I hope it wasn’t a power thing. I really loved that hamster. But I could loom over it. I’ve never been able to loom over anybody. Unless it was a Volus.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Diana Allers had been asking for crew interviews. Many of them were authorized, but she had angled for more. Diana had said "I'd like to interview Garrus Vakarian."

Morim had said "He's not Alliance. He's part of the Turian delegation and a strategy advisor to the Primarch."

Diana had said "That's exactly what I'd like him to tell me about."

Morim had said "Okay, but keep in mind that I don't tell him what to do. I wouldn’t recommend trying to interview him. You are aware that Turians aren't as big on reporters in the military as humans are? In fact, the word reporter is probably synonymous with traitor under these circumstances. The Turian military handles its own press releases. There's likely an ugly Turian word for you."

Diana had said "And I could ask him what it is. I want to try, at least. It would be a coup."

Morim had said "Okay. Go ahead and ask him. I get to be in the room if he says yes."

Diana had considered and said "In the room but not on camera?"

Morim had said "Oh, no, not on camera. I just want to see."

By the time Diana had gotten back to her about the interview, Morim had forgotten about it. She hustled down to Diana's cubbyhole and leaned against the wall.

Garrus tilted his head and looked at her. "Ms. Allers said that you permitted this?"

She shrugged "I told her not to try. Is there a vile Turian word for war reporter?"

Garrus looked at Diana and said "Yes. But we don't tell reporters what that word is. It's a small act of defiance that happens to be culturally widespread among Turians. If Ms. Allers had done her research she might know that."

Morim said "That makes no sense, because if you don’t tell reporters the word for them, how are they supposed to be able to report on that? It’s only hearsay. I told her you might have an objection."

Diana said "I'm just trying to help with the war effort. Palaven is under attack and you are the symbol of Alliance and Turian cooperation."

Garrus said "Okay."

Diana tilted her head forward and waited for him to say more, but he sat down and watched her until she realized he wasn't going to volunteer anything. He said "Commander Shepard told you I would answer questions?"

Morim raised a brow. Diana said "Not…exactly."

He answered "But you wanted to give me that impression."

Diana said "Yes."

He said "I see."

Diana sighed and said "Okay, I won't ask anything about military movements or strategy. I'm really just trying to get a good picture of the people on this ship."

Garrus said "Okay."

Diana said "Let me just get some background then. Where did you get such an impressive scar?"

Garrus leaned back in his chair. He looked down, then took a deep breath. He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head and said "That is a question I haven't answered..." He trailed off, looking haunted. He had Diana leaning forward. He sighed again and then said "There was a horde…" He paused and then said on a voice that was cracking, hoarse "A horde of marauding hamsters that attacked during the battle of Hokey Pokey. Barely got out with my life. One of them took a piece of my mandible and displayed it as a battle trophy. I still have nightmares." 

That magnificent bastard.

Diana frowned and said "Okay, I think we're done here."

Morim laughed and he stood and walked over to her. "Why are you here?" He asked.

She said "I told her she could ask you, but that I got to be in the room if you said yes."

He said "Happy to amuse, as always."

She said "You could have given her something. Not battle plans, but something. I didn't learn anything."

He said "Okay, if that's how you feel about it." He pulled Morim to him and dipped her into a dramatic kiss. After being startled for a moment, she happily participated.

Garrus pulled her back up to her feet and Diana did her best to recover. She said "There have been rumors of your involvement, and there are even some vids in circulation that claim to be you and not a simulation. What is it like being an interspecies couple?” 

Garrus said "Commander Shepard is my wife, Ms. Allers. We're an interspecies marriage. To answer your question it's like being pulled into the gravitational well of a singularity."

Morim said "You're so romantic."

He said to Morim "I've wanted to do that, or something like that but much more embarrassing for a while, so thanks for the opportunity."

Morim said "You could have just told me, we could have had a press conference. Feel good about that?"

He said "Yes. I'll be in the Battery."

She said "I imagine she has some questions for me now."

He said "I'll leave you to it."

She said "I still have approval over everything that goes out."

He said "Damn."

She said "I still haven't learned anything, Garrus."

"I'm not here to amuse you, Shepard." He said this in a tone that indicated the opposite. He left the room, dismissively waving over his shoulder.

Diana said "Could have fooled me."


	18. Chapter 18

Meanwhile, in a fire fight

Garrus: Damn it, Shepard, that's the second time. STOP SHOOTING AT ME.

Shepard: Sorry! You have new armor. You look like a bad guy.

Garrus: So you're saying that all these years you were just mostly shooting at "not blue"?

Shepard: Apparently, yes!

Garrus: I like black and red now.

Shepard: I'll make a note of it.

Garrus: I'd understand if there was smoke.

Shepard: I said I was sorry!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Sur’Kesh

Shepard

Morim had selected EDI as a teammate for this mission because it had been advertised as more diplomacy, less shooting. Turned out it was a few lectures, then a bomb and then shooting, and then more shooting on different levels of the complex. Wrex had better appreciate this.

She yelled over the gunfire “Doing okay, EDI? How’s your first shakedown run going?”

EDI responded “Excellent. My targeting is listing slightly to the left by a few microns, I can fix that when I am not under fire.”

Garrus said “She’s not allowed to replace me, Shepard. Microns. There’s some bullshit right there.”

EDI said “It’s an assessment of intended sighting, not results.”

Shepard said “I wanted to go a little easier on you, but this is what it’s like.”

EDI said “Having reviewed mission recordings exhaustively, I don’t believe that this comes as a surprise to anyone.”

Garrus said “I’ve been counting. Over the years there have been twenty missions that were intended to be peaceful. Only four of them actually turned out that way.”

Shepard said “If you count all the missions that we didn’t realize we were getting into until we got there, that makes for some grim stats.”

EDI said “Statistics of death are fifteen on this mission that we have encountered.”

Shepard tilted her head “Oh, now wait, this sounds like fun. A fatality calculator.”

Garrus said “A fatality calculator that generates fatalities.”

EDI said “An abacus of death.”

Shepard laughed and said “However you want to process it. Let’s move up. Bigger and better things will try to kill us.”

She wasn’t wrong. When they’d counted their abacus through a few more waves, there was an Atlas. She’d been trying something but hadn’t gotten it right. She’d had way too much fun with the Atlas at Grissom Academy to let this go. She claimed the target as her own and Garrus and EDI gave her covering fire. She very patiently shot out the glass of the hood with her pistol and then drilled the driver in the head, trying to do enough damage to kill the pilot, but not the craft.

She shouted a whoop when she saw the pilot was down, then vaulted over cover and headed for the Atlas.

She heard Garrus yell “Oh come on now, what the fuck?”

EDI was still covering and made no comment.

She yanked the driver’s body out and yelled “YEEEEHAH!” and then as an aside that she expected to be obeyed “You guys might want to get down, please.”

Garrus and EDI immediately ducked behind cover and Shepard aimed the Atlas away from them and started picking off gunmen with glee. Once she had better confidence in the controls she yelled “Okay, guys, I am reasonably assured I won’t actually hit you. Come out and play.”

Garrus yelled “The hood’s gone, Morim, you dumbass, they can still shoot you!”

Shepard said “They can try! Oh, hey, look, he’s trying.” She aimed at a straggler and he exploded in a satisfying pink cloud. “Who’s a dumbass now?”

Garrus yelled “You are!”

There weren’t many people left, so she could only play for so long before she ran out of targets. She climbed back down, patted the flank of the Atlas and said “I want one, so bad.”

Yeah, she’d been shot. No huge deal, she was shot all the time, this was totally worth it. They hadn’t hit her, it had just ricocheted around the cab a bit and carved a track into her wrist. Garrus pulled out some Medigel and applied it to her arm, giving her a look.

She beamed at him “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

He said with play resentfulness “A little.”

She offered “You want me to save the next one for you?”

He said with a smile “Yeah.”

She said “I promise, next one is all yours, I’ll give you covering fire.”

He said “You are so good to me.”

On the shuttle on the way back, things were crowded. A female Krogan, Mordin, Wrex, EDI, Garrus and herself. She was still pretty riled from the Atlas thing and then Garrus said “Did you know you can actually shoot those shield guys through the slot they look through?”

Shepard said “No way. I’m trying that next.”

Garrus said “Let’s see if you can hit the broad side of a shield.”

Shepard deliberately fell for the setup “Funny. I know I can." Dramatic pause, realization. "Heeeey.”

Garrus smiled at her after a brief laugh and then they fell silent. Mordin and the Krogan were talking, but she wasn’t close enough to be a part of the conversation and she didn’t want to shout. She’d be able to talk to them on board when there was plenty of time. She leaned her head back and started to hum, and then started to sing, a new song that had been stuck in her head. She didn’t know much in the way of lyrics yet and so she ended up repeating the same line over and over, under her breath.

EDI was sitting next to her and she started singing along, in harmony, with the lyrics. Shepard’s eyebrows shot up and she stopped singing and EDI stopped singing with her. Shepard said “Noooo…do it. Sing.”

EDI quirked a brow, but continued on from where she’d stopped.

Morim’s eyes went wide and she said “Did you know that before I started singing?”

EDI shook her head. “No, but finding a particular tune is not a difficult search.”

Morim said “Okay, try this one.” She sang a verse of an older song, a year back, not a human composer but Asari. By the start of the first chorus, EDI was singing along in harmony.

Morim was delighted and she said “Okay, now this.” She sang a few lead ups to a Gregorian chant and EDI picked it up. Morim tried to sing around wanting to laugh and smile and she only made it so far before she grabbed EDI by the face and kissed her cheek soundly. “EDI. You are my new best friend.”

Garrus shrugged.

EDI said uncertainly “Thank you? Commander?”

Morim said “Yes! Thank you! We must do this more often.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Morim and Garrus were walking to a meal together and he seemed to suddenly remember something. He said “Hey, I was talking to Vega and he said you punched him.”

Morim shrugged “I did. He asked me to dance. He punched back.”

Garrus said, teasing “I’m crushed. What about us?”

Morim said “I remember a spar happening. You still haven’t asked me to dance.”

Garrus stopped and took her by the shoulders and pressed her against the hallway wall. He said with warmth “I can’t believe you punched another guy, but not me.”

Morim laughed and said “I could punch you right now if you want, where do you want it? Try to make it something that won’t break my hand.”

Garrus took his hands and put them against the wall above her shoulders, leaning down to her as she had to tilt her head up “Vega thinks we should spar, you know, a friendly ship-wide community.”

She tilted her head up and her stomach tilted at his voice and his arms and his eyes. “Vega, huh? This is for his benefit?”

Garrus leaned down to breathe in her ear and said “I can make it official if you’d like, spar with me?”

Morim drew breath to answer and Liara walked by, shaking her head and saying “You guys have a room for that.”

Morim looked at Liara, smiled and said with mock anger “Someone’s always watching, T’Soni, it might as well be you!”

Liara laughed and kept walking until she was out of sight.

Morim tilted her ear up to him and said “You were saying?”

He nuzzled at her head and then took his earlobe gently between his teeth and said “Spar with me?”

Her spine melted but agreeing might make him stop touching her. She said “You sure you want me out there causing mayhem and damage? We have lots of mayhem and damage, we don’t need to make Dr. Chakwas’s job harder.”

Garrus breathed in her ear “Come on, Shepard. I’ll do anything you want.”

She tilted her head down. His use of the names he had for her gave away an awful lot about the man. He wasn’t asking as a mate, but as a crewmate. She teased “You already do anything I want.”

He didn’t disagree, and the soft laugh he made sounded like he was appropriately taking it as praise. She did love his Turian sense of service. He said “Please beat me up. I’m asking nicely.”

She smiled again and chose to answer not as a crewmate, but a lover. “Yes, my dearest love, the mate of my heart and my home. If you want me to beat you up, I will beat you up.”

He pulled back suddenly and said with hope “Really? You will?”

The sudden change in attitude made her laugh “Yes, really.”

He said “I thought you didn’t want to blunt your murderous edge?”

She said “Yeah, well, a lesson in caution and asskickery could be of use to the crew. My crew will be here, right? Not kidnapped to motivate me? I should be able to shift gears with only a few minor trips to the Med Bay.”

He said “Wait. Me going, not you going, right?”

She said “It’s sparring, Garrus. We will both go, no doubt.”

He said “I’ll carry you.”

She answered “Not if your leg’s broken.”

He kissed her and then took her hand and they continued to walk to the mess. Vega was there eating and he saw them both, caught Garrus’s attention and said “Hey, is she gonna do the thing?”

Morim’s eyebrows went up and Garrus said “She’s gonna do the thing.”

Traynor looked up with a perplexed look and said “She’s gonna do what thing?”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

The Thing was arranged.

The shuttle bay was a mass of people. It had turned into a spectator event. It had been scheduled and then rescheduled and people had tried to alter their shifts to attend. They had promised that if it went well, they’d make it a regular thing, everyone could participate. That was a welcome promise. They’d follow up on different shifts on different days to give everyone a chance to watch or take their own chances. He couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to be there. No doubt everyone had seen Shepard in action on a vid or in a training exercise, but being on the Normandy and seeing it first hand was a different matter. There was a festival atmosphere. It had required makeshift bleachers to be set up on the sidelines because there were too many people to be able to see over each other’s heads. There were snack tables. There had been three distinct Normandy crews and he’d been a part of them all. The first crew had been fledgling, desperate and struggling to become a team. The second crew had been secretive, eclectic and riotous. If the first crew of the Normandy had been a hidden weapon and the second crew had been a shiv in the dark, this crew was a shining blade in a deliberate spotlight, intended to rend and inspire. She was the glittering edge of that weapon and the hand that held it. People here wanted to be a part of that, dedicated themselves to that.

This crew was new but was composed of experienced leaders in their areas of expertise. Morim watched for indoctrination, but she was less concerned about that than she had been under Cerberus. Morim had decided that although indoctrination was a horror, it also robbed the indoctrinated of originality and the guile to hide their own indoctrination. It was a powerful thing to destroy someone’s sense of self preservation, and it resulted in a flawed tactician. Husks would never retreat. Knowing when to retreat is key to war, and so many paths of strategy were blocked off to them. Actions would be taken to oppose them, and they were the actions they would take every day. It was a flaw in a process intended as action from a distance. Too much sameness. She’d met Saren after his indoctrination had already taken place, but watching the Illusive Man slowly deteriorate over time had given her a firsthand view of the process. If his indoctrination was unmistakable, other indoctrinations would follow that pattern. Indoctrination was a blind process. Garrus was not sure he agreed, and wasn’t sure she was just putting a brave face on it. He watched for indoctrination himself, but he was less sure he could spot it. Her capacity for tracking patterns of behavior gave her an edge, but he wasn’t confident that edge provided as much protection as she thought it did.

Morim saw the value to this exhibition or she wouldn’t have agreed. She may not personally value her notoriety, but if it would help with morale, she would use it. He was going to make the most of it. She wouldn’t have agreed to it if he hadn’t asked, and that burned in his heart. Something about her unpredictability made it impossible for him to take giving of herself at his request for granted. Not when it was for public consumption. Sexually she would and had given him everything, always. There was no demand he had made that she had not fulfilled. She’d successfully turned him into an unrepentant deviant. Not only did he want a human until his body burned, but he wanted to dominate his superior officer. Now she was his bondmate and Avah, she was his law in all things. That didn’t take from him that he could contrast it with years of being in her shadow and wanting nothing more than that right if that was all she could give. Seeing Thane had brought that contrast out. He felt he couldn’t lose. I want to dominate you, I want to be dominated by you. I want to watch fire light your eyes. I want to invoke lust, I want to watch you try to hide it. I want to see your glittering edge shine, I want you to cut me with it.

Just…don’t break a bone. Not yours. Mine are fine. You can break both of Vega’s legs, if that helps. He liked James, recognized him as someone he respected, but he’d be fine with it if Morim at least dislocated his shoulder for him. Break him down, Lola. Let me watch.

Sparring on a Turian vessel had so many meanings that it lacked for humans. A space for meritocracy, rank theoretically gone. In practice it didn’t always work that way, because Turian theory and status socialization would often lead to lower ranking officers allowing higher ranking officers to win regardless of merit. Fear on both sides. Fear of the superior officer being humiliated, fear of the subordinate officer experiencing professional retaliation. That differential between Turian culture and Turian practice is what had driven him from C-Sec. He had no patience with people who rang the bell of a culture to gain status and then skipped out when the bill came due. What he’d appreciated in Morim as an officer, as a person, as a human with no legacy to uphold was that she’d created a legacy for herself. She always paid the bill, never rang the bell except as a teaching tool. She was always willing to allow the meritocracy to dictate outcome. She’d allow those who volunteered, Vega, Javik, Garrus and EDI to beat the hell out of her, suppressing her instincts and her use of biotics that could turn them all into paste, if they earned it. She was capable of doing what Turian politics and theory dictated, but didn’t often produce; leadership, not just the name of leader. Maybe he was a good Turian after all. If the old Primarch made a clan for her, he must have been onto something. The new Primarch was on this ship. 

They’d wondered how to organize this circus, with five volunteers. A few themes arose. Garrus versus Javik, Shepard versus EDI, Shepard versus James. He had no idea what Javik’s style in the ring would actually be, so he’d take the first hit, go from there to see if Morim should risk it. Shepard versus EDI was an unknown. Garrus had no idea how to go after EDI without doing serious physical harm to her, and how to go about that was still unknown. Shepard versus James because James wanted it that way and it was his idea, so he demanded a finder’s fee. She’d given it to him. Sudden death. It would still possibly result in an uneven result if Javik, EDI and James won. Then it should be Javik versus James, EDI versus Garrus to put him back in rotation. If Garrus won and Morim won both of hers, it would be them at the end. 

Morim stepped out on a set of mats and said “Can you guys hear me back there?” There were a few adjustments until she was loud enough “All right, bloodthirsty people.” There was a pause for laughter. “We’re about to beat the hell out of each other for your entertainment. Do not tell me how much money you lost on me, it’s rude. Your future children need an education, it’s selfish of you to make me responsible for ignorance.” More scattered laughter.

Joker called out “Hey, Shepard, who do you think is going to win?”

Morim smiled and said “In accordance with Alliance protocol, I’m compelled by law to say I will win.”

Joker scoffed and said “Okay, okay. Who scares you the most?”

Morim raised a brow “Well, I’ve seen all of these excellent people in a fight. They all scare me, but I’m concerned about EDI electrocuting her skin at a critical moment and me losing control of bodily functions.” She turned to EDI, gave her a beseeching look and said “That was a joke.”

After laughter died down, she said “Normandy Bloodbath will be distinct for having not enough blood to bathe in, you in the front row are probably only at risk for far-ranging sweat. This is an exhibition and a study in cross-species, interspecies and synthetic combat methods. I’m sure this isn’t how Javik would have done it in his cycle.”

Javik said “The front row would be in danger of extermination.”

Morim said “Of course they would be, and I am glad I am not on that ship. The rules are: This is a hand to hand exhibition, no freaky inherent powers or biotics. We avoid the face and we avoid the throat. This is sudden death, first fall wins a match. Limbs are at risk and some enthusiasm resulting in broken bones and wrenched joints is to be expected. That is not an invitation, Javik. We wish to be entertaining, we do not wish to overtax the Med Bay.” 

Dr. Chakwas said “Thank you, Shepard” with a smile.

Javik made a disgusted noise that conveyed his dislike of the convention.

Morim continued. “Dedication to combat means that we fight hurt often. Sometimes we fight debilitated and we do it to save lives, our own and those of others. Everyone here gets that or they wouldn’t be here. Here we go.”

That was Garrus’s cue. He’d volunteered to go first with Javik. As menacing as Javik was, he relied in combat on biotics and he was much smaller. Javik and Morim were the same height eye to eye, and only Javik’s forehead crest gave him greater imposing height. Garrus had a crest of his own. Garrus had a great deal more experience recently with hand to hand and his reach was greater. He’d heard enough about how to prepare a Turian for dinner that this would be fun. Javik wasn’t a pushover, nobody here was, but Garrus was confident, having traveled with Javik for long enough to have a sense of his style. Javik was the essence of war for his people, but Garrus had grown to think he was the essence of command in war. He was not a scrapper. Intimidation was the height of strategy in Javik’s time, and domination was the goal. He lacked subtlety and versatility. Garrus began with a ring stance and they circled. Javik had expressions that were difficult to read so he was not going to try. Javik was also at a huge disadvantage, not having warmed up, not having sparred previously and not knowing what to expect at all. Garrus waited until Javik tried a few test jabs, and Garrus distracted him with a few jabs aimed at the face intended to startle and distract. Very fast, not intending to land. With Javik backing up Garrus dropped his upper body down and used his head at Javik’s hip, hand outside at a knee and hand inside at a foot, controlling his leg and lifting Javik off the ground as he scrambled to regain his balance. Garrus gave him a moment to feel the loss of control and then pivoted, driving Javik’s hip to the ground. Javik seemed to respect the rules of no face hits, had time only to attempt to find purchase with his hands on Garrus’s back before gravity threw him back. First fall, deceptively fast. That made him happy. Better yet, no injury.

Garrus wasn’t big with overt celebrations, so he walked off the mats casually and leaned up against a wall to watch the next match. Okay, maybe that was an overt celebration in his way. Javik muttered but didn’t protest, stood and acknowledged the loss with a nod, and went back to sit with the spectators to clapping. Maybe he’d learn something.

Next was Morim and EDI. Joker whooped the loudest as they came out onto the mat. EDI was enthusiastic, but tentative. Morim echoed her tentative style, actively making herself look a shade pathetic and apprehensive. Not too much, just enough. EDI had a blend of styles, she seemed to be choosing from multiple disciplines. Showing off? She was fast, it could have been intimidating. Morim let her do it. Garrus felt something he hadn’t expected to feel, but it was gratifying. Sympathy. She’s fucking with you, EDI. Garrus tried not to smile. Morim backed away with a hint of startled worry in her eyes when EDI began to get a bit more speed. She’s still fucking with you, EDI, she’s fucking with everyone here. Morim put on a show, landing test hits that Garrus noted looked clumsy but were aimed at seams in EDI’s construction. No obvious effect. EDI hadn’t landed a punch, having enjoyed just backing Morim around for a while. Right there with you, EDI. Morim had a sense of show, so she didn’t want to end it too fast, that’s what he was getting. She let EDI knock her around a few times, taking hits, but only when EDI was aiming at something insignificant. Upper arms, chest avoiding the collarbone. Nobody else here had seen Morim in the ring, much less been on the other side of that bluff. Garrus flicked an eye to James, who was watching impassively, getting his own assessments of Morim. Only Liara should have known better, but she wasn’t giving anything away either. Garrus looked closer and saw that her mouth showed subtle amusement. Liara did know better. She’d been in her head. What he would give to have that opportunity…

With the same distraction and baiting Morim had used on Garrus, playing out in its infinite varieties, she got EDI to lean forward a little too far, which must have been what she was waiting for. It was very fast, he had no doubt most people couldn’t follow what she did. Morim rushed into EDI, hooking her left elbow through EDI’s left elbow, using that momentum to spin EDI around and keep her off balance. Morim continued through to grab EDI’s right arm and pull back until she hooked her elbow through again, locking EDI’s arms behind her back, simultaneously jumping up and landing her knees on EDI’s lower back until she drove her into the mat, face down. It would have broken a human’s spine, but EDI was unharmed. She’d protected EDI from jamming her own appendages in a rough fall or using her hands to prevent the fall from happening. There was a gasp and an outcry of appreciation. Joker sounded very appreciative, letting out a “Oh, holy shit…” while Traynor fanned him with a datapad. James was grinning, Liara was laughing. Garrus finally let the smile touch his lips. That’s my girl.

Morim held her down for only a few seconds and then let her up, saying “Thanks for not electrocuting me. We should work on getting you some experience, you’ll get much better. You’re…uh…well, you’re built for aesthetics and not necessarily combat.”

Joker shouted “Yeah, she is!”

Morim shouted back “Which is okay because theoretically so am I.”

Garrus laughed. EDI nodded and walked back to sit next to Joker, who took her hand and asked her if she was okay, and didn’t let it go. That was going to be fun.

Morim stayed on the mat and James walked out, saying “I’m built for combat. You okay? Need a drink of water or something?”

Morim said “Yeah, that would be nice, thanks. Gonna get it for me?”

James rolled his eyes, and then made a show of lifting a flask from a pants leg, taking a swig and offering it to her. She shrugged, took a swig herself and then handed it back politely.

Garrus straightened a little from his slouch. This he needed to watch carefully because either Morim kicked his ass, which he’d like to see, or he got to kick James’s ass in a little bit, which he would also love. There was no losing with this. They arranged to start the round. Predictably James had a strength and he was going to play to it. Power. He had a lot of power for a human. Morim didn’t advertise her upgrades, and she’d spent a great deal of time making sure she was highly trained, knew how to use her implants to her best advantage. She had a lot of perks from that training that put her on the same playing field as far as power went. She couldn’t actively use biotics, but it boosted her inherent stamina, her ability to take a hit, and beyond that she had the best Cerberus had to offer to a resurrected mascot. She had that even if she couldn’t rope James into a misstep. James charged for her and she chose to step out of the way at the point in his charge where he couldn't change direction. She got a dig in at his ribs as he went by. A gasp from the crowd, some jeering from Cortez. “C’mon, Vega, there’s a beer in it for you!”

James thought better of second blind rush, though Garrus would have liked to have seen it again. Morim could have tripped him the first time and ended it, and James knew it. She was going to do the thing. She gave away tricks one by one and he bet James was wondering how many she still had left. Enough. She had enough. She has enough to kick your ass and my ass and everybody sitting down here, and look like she’s got nothing left until she does.

Morim had a good view of Garrus's impassive form waiting for the next round, whoever it was. She always started a round facing him. Just one more sign that whenever possible, her eyes would be on him. She’d given him some glances and signals others couldn’t interpret. Garrus didn’t call out encouragement to her, not wanting to distract her. He also didn’t do what he wanted to do, which was to perform a rush of his own and carry her off that mat. Hell, he wasn’t shy. He wouldn’t mind staying on that mat. He’d better keep that last bit to himself.

James didn’t have many fallback tricks, so he was doing an impatient circle around her while she was smooth. James was primarily a boxer who relied on power, which could get him very far in battle, without having to pull punches. He was used to aiming for the face. Garrus didn’t think she was going to go for things like breaking toes, but that would probably be the fastest, inside the rules way to hamper his power and maneuverability. Would she do it? Was that initial jab enough to break his ribs? Unlike Javik or EDI, Morim probably knew James wanted to be special, wanted a scar. “See, this is from the time I sparred with Commander Shepard.” She couldn’t put one on his face because of the rules, a pity. James would have liked that. Garrus carried his own mark, associated with her. He’d resisted having it fixed despite Dr. Chakwas offering. Not only were scars Turian marks of valor, but this was her scar.

Vega moved in for some punches and they were well aimed, landing a few and Garrus couldn’t tell if she wanted it that way or not. Vega was much more confident than EDI and he was faster. He was much more accurate, aiming to do harm to vital places. Vega was doing what you should do, aim for behind your target. When he hit for her ribs it looked like he was aiming for her spine and something stopped him, something made of person. That definitely had to hurt. Morim moved in when James was pulling back from a fast swing and she hit him four times to his one. She used fists, followed up with elbows, then shoulders, and her knees and feet, a barrage. It didn’t all land as solidly as the best, but some of them were solid enough that Vega danced back, cursing and favoring his right leg. She’d slammed his knee. Garrus also suspected she did actually break his ribs, and he was favoring the double-hit spot now, his elbow hanging back to protect it.

The look on Vega’s face was a thin veneer of pain over excitement and a little bit of bliss. Beneath all that bluster was a true Shepard fan. Good. His respect for Vega went up a notch. Morim gave him time to recover and make a face, which is more than Garrus would have done. She gave him a nod to go ahead and Vega shrugged it off, heading in for a faster barrage. Her style changed this round also, avoiding and blocking the punches and getting behind him, aiming for kidneys and the same spot in the ribs. He was protecting the rib spot so that was a loss, but she got in a kidney punch. He fell to one knee but miraculously kept his balance and fended her off from that position until he could drag himself back up and start over. He kept advancing, she kept finishing the round and giving him a breather. They were both smiling, in that vicious way unique to fighting rings. Chin down, eyes overshadowed, sweat on the lip. Vega still had a slight limp and he still protected his ribs. They were battering at each other and Vega lost his balance slightly and miscalculated where she was going to be, ending up accidentally head butting her on the lips. Blood. Blood on her face. Vega pulled back and said “Hey, hey, hey. No way. Accident. Sorry Lola. Accident, I swear.”

She laughed, backed off like he did, flicked the blood onto the mat and said “Sure thing, I believe you. Too sloppy to be on purpose.” 

Vega said “You’re breaking my heart.”

She said “No, I think I’m kicking your ass.”

Vega said “Yeah, that too.”

Garrus was experiencing a slow saturation of something he hadn’t expected. He’d seen Morim beaten up any number of times and her blood was something he’d become accustomed to. He really wanted to break Vega’s nose. He could have sworn Vega almost looked his way, too, but he kept his eyes on Morim mostly, making sure she really was okay with what could look like an intentional rule break. Vega would have happily punched her in the face if it was allowed. His distress was because it was an accident. A dereliction of duty. Garrus was a professional and he could keep his cool and not stride out there and do it right now, but he was sure he was going to do it. His eyes shifted from watching Morim to watching Vega, who was saying “C’mon Lola, just one punch to the mouth. I’ll stand still.”

Morim laughed “I don’t need to, please don’t stand still, I prefer a moving target.”

Vega looked miserable, then cast a glance Garrus’s way and shrugged. “All right. Here we go.”

Vega’s heart wasn’t in it. He was shaken and done and Morim could tell in seconds. She feinted toward his ribs again and then followed up with a monster kick to the solar plexus and Vega was down.

Garrus signaled that he would be right back to Morim, who helped Vega up and there was applause. Garrus went to the side table and got Morim a bottle of water and brought it to her. On his way back to her Vega stood in his path and said “C’mon. Do it.”

Garrus narrowed his eyes “I was thinking nose.”

Vega said “Oh come on, just the mouth. Noses hurt like a bitch. Try not to break teeth. Square. You know I didn’t do it on purpose, right?”

Garrus tilted his hand and smashed a closed fist into Vega’s lips, avoiding breaking teeth but still eliciting some colorful swears. “Yeah, I do.”

Vega said “Great. Thanks.” He moved out of Garrus’s way. Garrus brought Morim the bottle of water and she said thank you, took a sip and then sighed “What the hell was that?”

Garrus said “Turian thing” while Vega said “Guy thing.”

She said “Am I allowed to do a human woman thing and think this is some bullshit?”

Garrus shrugged “You can. Not much I can do about it.”

Vega said “It’s about you, but it’s not about you. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Garrus shrugged again “He did ask you to hit him. He just had to move on to the next taker.”

Morim sighed and said “So you’re both happy with this outcome?”

Garrus and Vega said variations of more or less and yeah.

Morim said “Okay then. I’m glad you’re happy with your service. Vega, thanks for sparring.”

Vega laughed and rubbed at his mouth, waved and limped back to get his own bottle of water.

Garrus said to her “You still want to do this? I can tell you’re injured.”

Morim said “That’s the whole fight hurt thing. It’s not bad. Not bad enough to stop anyway. I promised you I’d beat you up.”

Garrus smiled “So you did. All right. You need painkillers first?”

Morim shook her head “Oh hell no, bad idea. I won’t be able to remember what hurt.”

Garrus said “I will.”

Morim sighed “Of course you will. You’re still the best painkiller I know.”

Garrus said “Eventually.”

She smiled “Eventually. Yeah. Let’s do this. My love, would you care to dance?” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. Something he’d seen during his research on human customs. Something that made her eyes go wide. He couldn’t resist touching his tongue to the back of her hand and seeing a shock of warmth in her eyes. Good custom. Keep that one.

He gestured for her to take her place on the mat, and she did, turning to face him. He looked at her and just enjoyed the moment. I got her here. He realized he had no actual idea what he was going to do or whether or not he wanted to win. It would be gallant, wouldn’t it? Kiss the lady’s hand, let her win? Nah. Fuck that. He’d be gallant later. She was already tired, she was already hurt. Bruised if not broken left ribs, she had a slight limp on the right that she was hiding, but no doubt she knew he knew. He’d honor her sense of show. He smiled at her and she smiled back. People could watch it in slow motion if they wanted to. He’d give a show, but he wouldn’t slow down for spectators.

From what he could hear, all the spectators were cheering for her. In his way he was too. In the spirit of exhibition he started to move in the same cyclic testing opening that was as traditional as the first move in chess. She circled away from him, but she didn’t need to do any testing as they had the first time they’d fought. She didn’t have her fight game face on, she looked like this was relaxed fun. Despite her injuries, he didn’t doubt it was. They tightened the circle by moving incrementally until they were within his reach. He made the first move with a controlled lunge, ever wary of his own balance. She was barely in range and he expected her to be not there when his hands reached her, and he wasn’t wrong. There were oohs and aahs and gasps from the crowd as they moved. Crowd sounds melded into percussion additions to the movement. This was nice, but this was like having dinner in a restaurant. She was aware of everything, the crowd, the atmosphere, the sense of show. 

He knew what he wanted to do. No, Bakan, look at me. Just me. Be aware of me and have nothing else for the crowd. He set about doing that, limbs blurring and no time to think, only time to react. Blow, countermove, counter-counter move. Start over. Blow and counter. He couldn’t bring himself to truly hit her where he would know it hurt the most. He couldn’t shatter a collarbone or punch at her breasts. Ribs were fair game. So were her hips. So was her waist. That whole stomach area upset him, it being so vulnerable, so he didn’t gut punch her. She could tell he was holding back. She ducked an intended blow and then swung both hands together against a natural rift in plating over his ribs with a nasty crack. The crowd gasped or cheered and then he stepped back, tilted his head and she gave a slight nod. 

Well. 

Ow. 

He almost growled. At least her attention was entirely on him now. He knew he’d better watch his fucking knees. She’d injured him where she was injured and she was going to even up the score before moving forward. He said “Still got bones in your hands?” They were bleeding and she was laughing. She wasn't hiding the lust in her eyes. She said “Maybe a few.” She charged at him and the look in her eyes and her speed made his heart drop and his spine start to vibrate with the rise of lust of possessiveness. She was definitely going for his knee. He managed to get out of her way and protected his knee, but she wasn’t just going for his knee. While he avoided her kick, her fist caught him in the abdominal plates. More ow. She was bent over from aiming so he shoved down on her back. It might have been over right then, but she staggered and regained her balance, circling back around to face him as he realized he was not getting out of this without a limp. He was lucky, again, that Turian arousal wasn’t physically evident. Human female arousal was clear in her eyes. He’d already gotten everything out of this he wanted to get and he didn’t actually care about the ending. What did she want?

He watched her guard her vitals even though she knew he wasn’t going to hit her there. It was still the right thing to do. She knew she had fewer choices than he did, but she’d make the best ones she could. She wanted him to do his best. She was moving from straight punching to more attempts to throw him, which he stepped over, jumped over or avoided entirely. He avoided leg sweeps and more double handed swings. She had her own sense of honor and was avoiding the places she knew could bring him down, in this case waist and the spots on his back she’d marked their first time. His best still involved not maiming her, and so did hers. Instead he turned it more into a dance, tempering power with grace. He started at her speed, avoiding where she was hitting, and then sped up incrementally over time, slowly getting faster than he thought she could go. He could land blows she didn’t see coming. He was sure they hurt, but they weren’t debilitating. It wasn’t all that easy, but it was easier for him than for her. She was tiring, landing fewer blows, making small losses in commitment and execution. She was breathing hard, grunting, sweating, that limp was becoming more apparent and she was still going for his knee. He had her several times, had her vulnerable and seconds from taking that fall. She lunged for him and he was out of her way but had her by the waist, pulling her back hard against him. Entirely unnecessary for combat, but it felt too good to pass up. His arms were vibrating with the force he could exert on her frame, the feel of the impact against his chest. Savoring that feeling cost him his knee as she kicked back and finally connected, and the groan he gave resounded in her ears. He let her go before she resorted to stomping on his feet.

Somewhere in the turn of his intent, the audience had grown quieter and there was no more rooting for Shepard. If anybody in the audience was convinced he couldn’t kick her ass in seconds there was a fitting human phrase; he had a bridge he could sell them in Cipritine. The show was now him and her, together. The fact that she kept coming anyway, hurt, exhausted and smiling, enjoying it, enjoying him. The fact that he kept avoiding her while taking opportunities to touch her. 

She was getting tired and her hands were visibly trembling. From her eyes, half lust and half exhaustion. Time to end it. Sweat was obscuring her vision. He wanted to lick it off her, but when was that not the case? He charged at her as he had done before in their prior fight. He lifted her off the ground, trapping her arms at her sides and then spun around in the air, landing on his back. Technically she won. By all measures he valued, she won. 

There was a cheer as the crowd realized he’d conceded. All he could see was her, he’d made sure they were eye to eye.

She laughed, said “You fucking cheater” and then struggled until he let her hands free, which he didn’t really want to do. She slid her knees to the side of his body, leaned forward and kissed him, his arms coming around her back, her hair curtaining around them. She was breathing hard, she smelled of sweat and a thin, strong spike of lust. The sound of the crew was some surprise, but no shock. Enough people had caught them in embraces in hallways or stair cases or elevators so this was not a shock to anyone. Diana Allers had told her story. The kiss didn't make it into the news, and neither did the battle of Hokey Pokey, but the wedding was announced officially to the Alliance. He imagined eyes on them, jealous or wistful or approving. He tasted her blood on her lips, touched his tongue lingeringly on the broken spot, felt the jolt down her spine through his arms. He felt like dying right here would be an excellent end to a life. Life goal. Achieved. He got to dance with her on Palaven before witnesses, he got her to not kill him before the Alliance. 

It was not a short kiss. He already wanted to roll her over and fuck her until they made a dent in the floor through the mats. She was using her tongue and moving her hips in ways that made him tighten his arms and pull her closer.

She pulled back reluctantly and said “Other people.”

He brought a hand to her face and stroked a lock of hair behind her ears “Right. Other people. Some day we need to do this in a locked room.” New life goal.

She said “Deal” and stood up, offering him her hand. He took it and she helped pull him up.

There were congratulations and hand shaking and people who did that got more Shepard sweat and blood on them. Her hands were torn up. Dr. Chakwas approached and congratulated them both equally, then asked if she could be of any service.

Morim looked at him and he looked at her and they both said “No” in unison. Dr. Chakwas shook her head and said “Fine. You can both come to me separately later if needed. I know better than to try to convince you now.”

Shepard said “We have huge stocks of Medigel.”

Chakwas snorted and said “I imagine you need them. Anyway, congratulations again to you both. Thank you for no actual broken bones that anybody is admitting to.”

Mission accomplished, show provided, he stood slightly behind her, nearly close enough for her shoulder to touch his chest. His face effectively stopped anybody else from approaching her until she noticed, turned and said “You’re looming.”

He agreed with a nod.

She said “All right, come on, let’s go get a shower.”

He followed her, but didn’t agree about the shower. He could just show her. He liked showing her. She leaned back against him in the elevator ride, still too long. He kept his hands off of her with an effort until they were through the door to their cabin. Once the pneumatic lock had sounded he turned her and pressed her body against the door, constrained by the weight of his own. His hands were free, and he absorbed her surprised but gratified low laugh. He lifted the hair from the back of her neck with a hand that guided her head to the side while he licked there on the wet skin, still hot from exertion with her pulse pounding enough to feel it on his tongue. He let out a long vibrating moan of pleasure that he knew she could feel through her back. His sternum blade had been retracted for battle but the edge still fit her spine. He said in her ear “I have a few questions.”

She said “Really? This is a talking thing? Doesn’t feel like a talking thing.” She pushed her body back against him while her hands came up to press flat against the door at the level of her head as if to surrender.

He nuzzled at her neck and dragged his teeth across her skin to elicit a shiver and then said “I can multi task. Talking thing…okay…I was thinking…and I want to know if you know how much lust you inspire in those who see you fight like that?”

She was still, lines of tension materializing under her skin, a breath drawn in, until she forced herself to relax. Uh huh. He said “I see it. You can’t fail to see it. You don’t acknowledge it, same as you didn’t with me. I’ve never met anybody who didn’t use that much power to their advantage.”

She had relaxed and was on her guard again and the words were easy “Who says I don’t? The only man I wanted, not even in my league or my species, and I’m lucky enough to have him pushing me up against a door asking embarrassing questions? I’m not getting that shower, am I?”

He laughed and massaged one of her breasts with a hand, garnering a heartfelt moan. He said “A league? What’s a league? And no, shower is getting further and further away. You will eventually get one, but not right now, not with the way you feel and taste and smell. I’m so glad we’re doing this sparring thing. Answer the question.” He worked at the back of her throat, fluttering his mandible against her skin, dragging his teeth, distracting her from answering so her voice was strained and had little cracks in the sound.

She said “Mmm…that is nice. A league…a league is…it’s hard to concentrate…” He didn’t let up and she said “Ng…uh…a league is comparing ability or capacity. So a sports team might be amateur, minor and major. As far as…oh, right there…yes…so I figure I’m an amateur and you’re major league.”

He laughed and let the sound vibrate to her spine, moving back to directly over the bones. She made a little sound of pleasure. He said “Oh, that is so much bullshit. Do you buy your own bullshit? You’re an amateur?”

She laughed softly and said “You and I…may have different…uh…oh please don’t stop…standards in a mate. I think you just…pretty sure…you just talked me into…letting you beat me up…and then…ungh…proceeded to dance around me as though I were standing still.” She drew in a hiss of breath and said “And I clearly like it.”

He smiled against her skin and dragged his plates over the slopes of her shoulders and said “Yes, you like it. I am trying to figure out why. Are you proud of me? Are you proud of yourself? Did you feel an audience watching, feeling jealous, feeling inadequate?”

She laughed and said “That’s a lot of…mmm…questions…try going…umm…slower…for the circumstantially simpleminded.”

He laughed and said “Let me put it in Shepard terms. Give me numbers. Percentage of audience sexually frustrated by the spectacle of us fighting.”

She closed her eyes and took a few moments to calculate while his hands were on her and said “64%.”

He paused a moment and said “Your numbers are honest. I should have figured that out earlier. Let me see.”

She gasped at the feel of his hand on her breast and said “You might…be over thinking it…here’s one…oh…for you. Odds of invoking lust or other…related positive…unh…feelings by…uh…touching me…mmm…violently or otherwise…”

He smiled and spent long moments with his tongue on her skin and then said “100%. But that doesn’t explain why you’d do it in front of witnesses, considering the risk of injury and loss.”

She laughed and even blushed, saying “You touch…me…I…win. And…and it makes you…ungh…not happy, but…another…word…makes you…Turian…and me…uh…human.”

He considered, losing himself in the access to her body, her thoughts, and he decided it was true. She allowed his Turian sense of status to contrast with her human sense of camaraderie. They could have both. She didn’t need to invoke or use sexuality in the way he would. His breath hitched and he pressed closer to her, his cock pressing against her ass and he started riding her slowly and steadily, through restraining fabric, the wet sweat on her shorts causing the fabric to stick to her skin. He pulled a long groan from her that faded into a steady rise and fall of her voice with his motions. He said softly “Would you let me fuck you, Morim? In front of a crowd? Purely for morale, of course.”

She swallowed hard and said “I…uh… think it’s against regs.”

He dug his fingers deeper into her breast and wrenched another groan from her, pressing harder against her “It isn’t a request from me or a promise from you, it’s a simple question, yes or no. I know you will allow your very status conscious, prideful and lustful Turian lover to beat you down until you are exhausted and trembling. Would you allow me to slice your clothes off you, slide my hands over your body? Would you allow me to lick between your thighs until you forgot your name? Would you allow me to drive my very Turian cock into your very human body until you lost consciousness from Reverie and I brought you back over and over? Would you allow me to thrust my cock into you in a human style until you wished you could lose consciousness? If you could, would you give me that?”

She breathed in soft pants and said with her eyes closed “Yes.”

The quiet, unqualified admission set off trembles in his knees and he kissed up her spine until he leaned his crest against the side of her head. “Spirits, Bakan.” He held her, breathing in the scent of her hair, the heat sheeting off her body and said “Then you should know when we do this again, I want to render you helpless, immobile or thrashing under me. When your mind calculates all those speculative looks, you should know I take fierce pride in who you are to everyone, who you are to me, and how there is a relentless beat of constant need that burns for you. I can barely see a surface in my environment where I don’t imagine what it would be like to have you pressed against it. You make me ostentatiously proud to be yours.”

She had relaxed entirely back against him, as much contact as their bodies could make. She said softly "Why did you bust Vega's lip open?"

He gathered his thoughts, distracted by her, as distracted as he wanted to make her. He asked a question back, stalling for time. Maybe he'd show her. He'd try. "You mean the guy thing?"

She said "You said it was a Turian thing."

He smiled against her skin and said "It is. Vega understands." He said as an afterthought "I like him."

She said "This is not helping me understand."

He said "Mmm…it is a few things. I could give you a few reasons, and I'll do that. Then I'll show you why." His hands shifted on her body and he backed up a few inches and said "Here. Let's trade places, see how that goes…but first…" He turned her to face him, drawing himself up to full height and looked down at her. "This is looming. As you've noticed, I can protect you with my body, guard you with my presence, even keep people from talking to you. I am imposing." He turned them so his back was to the door and said "It doesn't matter what position we're in, you will always be smaller. Nobody will ever look at us together and feel sympathy for me. Every single person out there was rooting for you. Why? Yes, you are Commander Shepard and they are dedicated to you, but I have a clear advantage. You were bleeding, limping…" He got distracted and leaned forward to kiss her again, tongue running over the swelling curve of injured lip. He pulled back and stroked fingers over her cheekbones. "You died, Venri. You are vulnerable. You work harder than anybody I know to overcome those vulnerabilities, and you are formidable, but you are vulnerable. That's what people see when they look at you, especially when they look at us. You don't have my strength, speed, armor or height. Now, normally…if someone hits you I can just shoot them. It's simple. Someone does you harm, I do them harm. When we get into sparring though it gets more complicated. Someone does you harm, but you consent to that harm. You didn't consent to having your lip split open."

She said "But it was an accident, I know that, you know that."

He shook his head "Yes, but it doesn't matter. It was out of bounds harm. I couldn't shoot him, but I did want to break his nose. I wanted to do more harm than he did to you, he asked me to settle for even. He would have accepted it if I broke his nose. He didn't want to do you out of bounds harm. He knew I consider it my right to protect you or avenge you and he didn't want me to wait for my opportunity or resent him."

She scoffed "You wouldn't."

He tilted his head "I don't know about that. Not to interfere with a mission, but maybe an "accidental" shove with an elbow. He'd be looking for it, I'd be looking for it."

She said "You guys are civilized, grownups."

He said "It's not about civilization or maturity. It's something that stirs in the base of the brain. Whether or not Vega is in love with you, he's been in love with someone. He's also dedicated his life to protecting people. He'd recognize it in me. That's how it's not about you but would be true for his ideal mate. It's how his mind works, the right he'd expect. The right to have a say about what might happen to her. He'd know I see you at your most vulnerable moments, and I'm allowed to take advantage of them, but nobody else is. He's seen us together. This is less voluntary than you think. You have attracted people who admire you, who love you." He said this, thinking of Thane, but unwilling to break his confidence. "People who see you on a vid may not get that you're as vulnerable as you are. People that see you bleeding and limping while you laugh and go on to the next round have a different perspective. Your vulnerability elicits desire, loyalty and protectiveness in those who are capable of giving that to you. I promise you James would jump on a grenade intended for you and consider it a good death. It is not necessarily about sexuality, but enough of the time that adds just a little more sharpness to the urge to do what I get to do daily. I am your husband, I am your second in command, I have the right to have your back. You chose that. I can beat you down or raise you up because you want me to. So for the demonstration, take off your shirt."

She did, simply and easily because he wanted her to and that shuddered through his spine. Her skin was bruised and broken, worse than usual because of the lack of armor. She had a particular bloom of ugly in the middle of her ribcage on the left. He ran his fingers over the un-bruised, unbroken areas of her skin and watched goose bumps raise. He moved his mouth close to her ear and said "I can have anything I want of you, Venri. Pressure from my hands on your shoulders and you're sucking on cock with contentment and joy and a pounding warmth in your bloodstream you crave. I could lift you off your feet until your legs wrap around me and I sink into your heat until I hear you wail. You've granted me power over your body, over your life. There's no way I'm not taking advantage of that every second. Sometimes I don't understand why you don't. You could beat me in a fight by asking. You could slam me against a wall with biotics. You never do. So here's where the base of the brain has nothing to do with civilization. You seem to be a person of general desires, overarching ideas. But for most of us, desire isn't general, it's specific. I've seen you break the fingers of someone for touching your ass. You've done it countless times, fended people off from your body. But you can't keep them from thinking about it. People are going to think about you very specifically."

He moved his body along with his words, moving her into what he'd imagined. "Don't you think…" he turned her around again and took her hands and pressed them against the door with his own and said "keep them there" and then he pulled her ass back against him, teasing her with fingertips through the fabric "That people have looked us up, have seen how we touch each other, have heard my name on your lips? How many bootleg copies…" He unfurled claws and pulled a double track of lines down her back, over bruises, digging in, until he reached her shorts and shredded them off. He said "If they hadn't looked it up before, they'll be doing it tonight." His hands roamed over her, the fact that she was trembling fed that addiction sense of touching her, that he'd never get enough. He freed his cock suddenly and lifted her ass against him, angling her so the push down kept her arms against the wall with a little yelp from her. He positioned his cock against her, feeling the heat and gratifying wetness pooled there, trembling. He drove into her, losing interest in teasing, holding her suspended and ramming his length into her, forcing the pace of her breathing, with his hand coming around to press nearer and nearer to her clit, urging a fast, hard rip of pleasure through her. Combat definitely counted as foreplay. When the trembles turned into the tight squeeze of her orgasm he held her hard against him, closing his eyes, reaching, moving inside her, pressing against the spots that caused her to spasm against him, around him, growling as he bent over her body and bit into the back of her neck. 

He lifted her, still joined, an arm around her waist pulling her back against him, a hand at her throat. He was still careful of her ribs, though he knew she couldn't feel pain right now. She relaxed entirely in his arms and he kissed at her skin until their breathing was steady.

She said with sated tones "Garrus…this base of the brain thing…I understand. I do. But let me ask you something."

He said "Mmm…okay."

She said "If I'd asked you to not hit him, regardless of your opinion, your argument or your intentions, would you refrain from hitting him?"

He laughed and said "Yes."

She said "Just exactly how much power do you think I need? I've got you. Would you bite me, hit me, hurt me if I asked you to stop?"

He said "Of course I'd stop."

She shrugged and said "And there you have it. All these things you can have from me, these are things I want. You may be status conscious, but I have the highest status you can get on this rig, plus a Spectre to boot. I don't need to shoot for more. There is no more. Someone else doesn’t have to lose for me to win."

He made a face "Blasphemy. Human blasphemy and propaganda. I'll try to overlook it."

She laughed and said "Shower. Medigel. Please."

He set about doing her bidding.


	19. Chapter 19

Timeline: Priority: Tuchanka

Shepard

She was cuffed to a wall, hands over her head. It was cold. She could feel the blood run down her wrists. The cuffs were programmed to spike into her skin if she struggled or if she slept and her weight pulled on them, resulting in a raw ring of punctures around each wrist. This didn't keep her from struggling and eventually it didn't keep her from falling asleep before it woke her seconds later. She had been here for a while. Hunger and thirst and lack of sleep combined with the cold and the pain, giving panic a purchase in her thoughts. She stopped struggling with the promise to herself that she would start again when her heart rate was under control and she'd beaten the panic back.

She remembered biotics and then forgot them, then remembered them again. She tried to gather her will to generate a pulse and…nothing. She either couldn't remember how to or…she imagined sophisticated cuffs, sophisticated dampeners. She couldn't remember getting here, didn't remember how this happened. Her eyes were covered with a blindfold. Her naked back scraped open against the jagged stone behind her and her wrists opened new wounds as she forgot her promise to not panic.

She stilled when she sensed someone was in the room with her. She tried to get a location from the sound, cursed the pounding in her ears and tried to focus. Where was it? 

A sudden sound and movement from her right startled her again and she heard "Venri. It's going to be okay. You're safe now."

Her dry throat cried out and the sound was broken.

"Garrus!" 

He rushed to her, his hands finding her. The relief was powerful, crashing through all of her fear and caution, adrenaline surging into her bloodstream, erasing pain and causing her body to shake. His hand reached up to grasp her wrists in the restraints, his other hand traveled to her throat where there was a band, or a collar. Maybe what suppressed her biotics? She said in panic "Get them off me, get it off me, we need…" 

His mouth crashed into hers and she temporarily forgot everything but the feel of him, his warmth, the way his arms crushed her to him. Her mouth silent, her mind always thinking when he was near ‘iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou’

Dizziness was added to her disorientation and the way he was moving her body caused her wrists to twist in the cuffs, which caused a fresh spurt of blood. He found a catch to one of the cuffs and released her hand, drawing her wrist to his mouth and licking at a long line of blood trailing down her arm. He turned her hand over, kissed the back of it gently and then replaced it in the cuff. Icy horror crashed in on her as his hands lingered on the bonds but did nothing to free her from them.

nonononopleaseno.

He removed her blindfold and she saw his face in all the wrong silvers and blues, indoctrination splitting open the lines of his plates, revealing circuitry.

He smiled, stepped into her, his arm going around her waist, one hand at her throat, a finger playing at the edge of the collar. He began to lick at her neck with slow contentment, saying "I told you, Venri. You're safe. It won't hurt if you don't struggle. We will be together now, always. "

She surged awake with a scream, sweating and trembling. The nightmares were getting worse, more sophisticated. Her waking obsession with the idea was giving her mind the fuel to re-script each time she closed her eyes. She was safe from nightmare when Garrus was here, but often lately he wasn't. Coordination with Palaven was on a different schedule than the one dictated by her duties on the Normandy. Grief intruded and fresh memory. Mordin. Garrus had sent her here to sleep after she'd lost Mordin. 

His hands moved over her in the dark, proving how well he knew her body. His scent, with a new dark and bitter undertone made her dizzy as it always had. He smelled like an addiction still, just moreso. Coffee, chocolate, Turian. Fear of him was always part of what attracted her to him. Fear wasn't new. Cold and hungry and thirsty disappeared under the assault of his mouth, his voice, his hands. She was weak and she couldn't resist. 

That was a lie. She was strong and she wouldn't resist. There was nothing she would want in the outside world if he wasn't there. She'd stay here with him. 

Gods, please make it stop.

She longed for the oblivion that his arms and body brought to her, the comfort of his voice at her ear, but now it was being twisted and she resisted calling him on the comm. He could be here in moments and she could lose herself in his presence. She wouldn't do it. She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to lie. She didn't want to find out that she flinched if he touched her. That wasn’t the real problem, was it? The problem is that you're never going to flinch when he touches you.

He's going to let your hands out of the cuffs. He knows you won't hurt him and your hands will trace over his back, wanting to pull the tubes and wires that crawl over his form off, but you won't. You're going to pull him to you, press your breasts against his chest and listen to his voice in your ear, promising you forever. He's going to lick a line over the collar at your throat and promise when you are your new self, how proud he will be to be yours, he's always been proud to be yours. 

He's still Garrus. 

He's still himself enough to tear you into pieces and make you beg him to do it again. He still gives you hope that he’s in there.

He is in there and you can’t ever leave him.

You were wrong, Shepard. Very wrong about how indoctrination works. Let me show you.

Mordin, you could have given me something to fix this when you weren't out saving the potential lives of generations of unborn Krogan. You could have helped me and now you're gone. I could have helped you and now you're gone.

Gods…no…Spirits. Please, Spirits. Forgive me for thinking of asking Mordin for anything else. He gave his life. He’s gone.

She clutched at the locket that was only possible through his work.

Forgive me, Mordin, please.

He's going to feed you by hand, saying he always wanted to know what the names of the food you liked were, and now he has the time. He's going to press a cup to your lips and lick the side of your mouth where water overflows. You're going to hope you can bring him back to you, he's in there. You're going to hope he can't bring you to him. He promises he can't wait to see what you look like in your new colors, your new markings, matching his.

It will be your choice.

He’ll laugh about when you managed to get another set of cuffs off the wall and out of this room. He admires your resourcefulness, always has. He tells you that you strangled five sentries before you were brought down, cuffs still on. He’s sorry that the new cuffs hurt and they had trouble saving your hand before, but they’ll just grow a few clones for spare parts if needed. You’ll be fine. He’ll make you forget, he’ll start over, he’s been doing this for a while.

I'm so sorry. Mordin, I'm so sorry. I have failed you. Garrus, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fail you.

Jagged sobs wracked her as she clenched her eyes closed and felt the grief and fear overtake her. She forced herself to feel it fully in the same way she'd force herself to look at reality. I need to know. I can't fix it if I don't know. 

It's just a dream. It's your fears playing out for you in your sleep. You know that. You know it can't get you while you're awake. 

You're lying. You know it can. You know it does. You know that your fingers run over his plates, reassured there is nothing there that shouldn’t be there. You compare his voice to the one in your dreams and you can't tell the difference. 

Because it’s from inside your head, dumbass. Of course it’s the same.

Think.

Odds of his indoctrination taking place based on what you know and suspect: 39%.

Odds that his indoctrination results in your capture: 100%.

Odds of him indoctrinating you: 99%.

You're going to cling to that 1% because you know you talked Saren into eating a bullet. You can have it. Is it a comfort or a trap?

Follow me, Venri. For once, follow me. I've followed you everywhere. I've earned this. We've earned this. No more desperation. No more doubt or worry. We would be invincible together. Immortality.

He knows he has you and he's giving you time to show him. He has nothing to do but convince you. He shows you everyone is dead, everyone you knew. Palaven, Earth, all gone. Nothing left to fight for. 50,000 years before the next cycle begins, menaced by Turian and Human shaped Reapers.

He tells you that he altered the indoctrination process because you told him it was flawed and he agreed. He's the first with autonomy based on your suggestions. He thanks you for your insight.

You never dream about who you’d be after indoctrination. That doesn't scare you so much. You're realistic enough to know that if you were indoctrinated, you'd feel bliss. Your thoughts would be the same and your purpose unopposed. That's not a nightmare. The nightmare part is being separated from him and knowing that you will step into that bliss with eyes open if he asks you to. Eventually. Or you’ll kill him.

He tells you that he’s the only person you will talk to. You’ve killed three other caretakers just recently. If you try to harm him, he'll do it for you. He'll break his own bones until you beg him to stop. He said he would, you don't doubt it. He doesn't need to do anything to restrain you other than threaten to break his own fingers. He'd cut a shallow line along his throat and you'd applied Medigel with shaking fingers while he looked at you with burning blue eyes, still his color behind the metallic whir.

He put a gun on a table between you once, your hands were free, you thought your thoughts were free. You wouldn't take it.

He opened the door to the outside and when you asked him if he would leave with you and he said no, you closed it. He will only leave with you when your skin blooms blue and silver, like his.

Congratulations on getting Saren to shoot himself. Did it end? No. He got stronger. It severed the last of his will and he was just another jumpy fucker that almost killed you. He didn't have the intelligence, the subtlety, the dedication that Garrus has.

Mordin is really dead.

Odds of winning anything if you get no sleep: 0%.

It won't hurt if you don't struggle.

Please don't let this be indoctrination steadily cannibalizing what sense I have left.

Let me show you.

She closed her eyes and tried to block her thoughts from traveling any further down that road. It was a dream. I’ve always had dreams. My mind calculating every outcome that I can think of is what has kept me alive so far. It’s just fear. Fear will pass.

Reverie is hypnotic and you promise him anything, everything, and you mean it.

That last flash of remembrance leaves a memory that sends her lurching to the bathroom and vomiting up bile.

She thinks of seashells instead. Mordin is gone, Mordin is safe from indoctrination. Mordin fought back. Mordin would have liked to run tests on the seashells.

You’re not doing this for yourself. This isn’t about you. Don’t let fear change who you are. Garrus is your reason to live and you will solve any problem if it happens, when it happens. You will not create a problem that doesn’t exist. You’re awake, you have your mind now. You can’t allow him to be poisoned through your fingertips or your voice.

You will control yourself and welcome him and you will never, ever give him a hint that this is inside your head.

Spirits, I hope I don’t talk in my sleep.

You’re grieving and being upset and unsteady will be forgiven. Heal.

Seashells and healing. You are not permitted to fail. You killed five sentries, bitch, live up to it. You know you’re scary in your dreams. That has to count for something. 

I can have anything I want of you, Venri.

That wasn’t from a dream. That was a part of the truth that caused this fear.

Seashells.

She opened her locket, rubbing along the mandible as though it were also a seashell, opening it with apprehension but unwilling to react to his scent in person badly.

She took a breath. It was him, it was not poisoned, and her heart would mend. She wouldn’t let this clear, pure thing be violated. It's just another fight on a new front, an escalation in the arms race. 

Her crying turned into something cleaner and she stood and got under the spray of the shower, resting her head on the tile.

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Everything was wrong. They were doing the best they could, but so much was wrong. Mordin’s death had shocked Morim into a shell of herself. He didn’t think anybody else other than maybe Liara saw it. She was professional and unreachable, efficient and inconsolable.

Amid the coordination of forces from Tuchanka to Palaven, he’d gotten little sleep, seen her hardly at all. He was sure she was having nightmares in the time he was away from her. He hadn’t been this tired since Omega. The choices weren’t about him and he had no agency over the outcome as he would with a rifle. It was never the right time to sleep with a choice being made, results coming in and the next choice being made. Missing any of those crucial steps would escalate into losing astronomical numbers of civilians and forces. His mind was fried, his body screaming, but he still knew he needed to do what he was doing minute by minute.

He’d been in the habit of spending time with Victus, but he was off the ship and the war table was abandoned. He did his work from the Battery now, a solitary vigil. Once again the only Turian on the ship.

He was beginning to reach the point where he was 51% debilitated and he’d need to rest in order to do that living thing that happens between making plans. The door opened behind him and he knew it must be her even before the waft of air brought her scent with it. Nobody else visited him. He made his way out into the ship most days, but people waited until he was out of the battery usually to talk. He preferred it that way.

He turned and she stood there, wan and diminished, holding a drink and a meal for him. What he saw in her face was more wrong. He wanted to comfort her, go to her, but the extent of his exhaustion hit him fully. Far past 51%. She looked at the bench lining the battery and decided he wouldn’t make it, sat down on the floor in front of him and started to lay the food out, opened the drink, arranged utensils.

That seemed like a really good idea and he sat down opposite her and sighed as his legs stopped trembling and were only aching. It wasn’t that comfortable, he couldn’t sit like she did, cross legged. He’d break important things that way. He sat sideways, with his knees up, spurs safe. He looked at her for a long moment, trying to think of what to say. She smiled gently and the lines of her face resembled the woman he loved. She said “Eat” and pointed to the food.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then nodded. Normally on a schedule, he didn’t know what time it was or when he last ate. He’d ignored all alarms and focused on the disposition of troop movements and supply lines.

He looked at her and she looked at him and every time he seemed to be forming a thought or about to talk, she’d pointedly looked down at the food and the drink and seemed companionably willing to keep him silent company. His back and shoulders were protesting and he began to wonder if he’d be able to stand up.

She said “You want me to get a cot in here?”

He leaned back to ease the strain on his spine and said “No. Thank you for the food. If I can’t make it to the elevator I shouldn’t be working.”

She looked at him skeptically “Can you make it to the elevator?”

He said “Remains to be seen. You’ll carry me, right?”

She said “Sure.”

He laughed. She smiled. The food didn’t make him feel any better, but it did ground him in the moment. He needed at least four hours of sleep.

He looked at her. She picked up the remains of his meal, threw them away and reached her hand down. He took it and she helped him stand. There was impressive cracking of plates and spine and bones and she laughed. “Everything okay in there?”

He groaned and said “Yup. I’m fine. Let’s go to bed.”

She said “Shower first?”

He sighed “No.”

She said “Shower first. Come on, I’ll scrub your plates for you.”

He said “I hope that’s a euphemism.”

She said “No you don’t, you’re exhausted. You’re afraid.”

He said “I’m afraid.”

She said “Just a shower.”

He said “I love you so much.”

She laughed “I love you too, you ginormous spiky dork.”

He said “You mean that in a sexy way, right?”

He stood on his own after a few tries and they made their way toward the elevator. He said “Oh Spirits, it’s so far. Can I do that cot thing instead?” She put an arm around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulder. He leaned on her. They made it to the elevator and he leaned against the back wall. “No, this is fine. This is good. Right here. Leave me. Save yourself.”

She said “Don’t fall asleep.”

He said “Demands. You’re such a bitch.”

She said “I mean it.”

He said “Just a little sleep.”

She said “You’ll fall over and crash.”

He said “You promised to carry me.”

She said “Fortunately we’re here. Come on.”

He groaned as he rallied his muscles to pull away from the wall and he swayed. She steadied him. She pulled him into the cabin and then leaned him up against the wall while she started taking his armor off.

He said “I love this wall. So much.”

She was quiet, but her face looked more like her. She was grieving. He vaguely remembered people were going to die while he was able to look at her face and have her scrub his plates, but she was his motivation. He was only one Turian. He needed to rest. He tilted his head back and tried to stand steady but a few of her yanks unbalanced him. She steadied him. She told him to hold still and he thought maybe he could do that. His eyes were closed. He heard the sounds of her undressing and setting the water temperature for him. He liked it hotter than she did. He could barely feel it and she’d said it was near to scalding. He liked the steam.

Now that his muscles and bones were cracking he realized he had a nasty headache. She brought him an analgesic and a glass of water. He thanked her weakly while she waited, put the glass down and then pulled him to the shower, scrubbed him while he stood there, face up in the spray, swaying, praying for the pain to recede. Spirits, let me make it to the bed.

She pulled him out of the shower in careful steps and dried him gently but thoroughly, getting under plates. His eyes were closed, he enjoyed her hands while the pain faded from the medication and food, feeling rejuvenated. She took a moment to dry herself, shaking the wet off her hair into a towel. She pressed her forehead to his crest, and then pulled him by both hands to the bed. She held a hand on his chest to stop him and then pulled the blankets back and helped him in. He groaned with the pleasure of giving in to gravity. There was no question of sex, but there was also no question of sleep until she scooted into the other side of the bed in their accustomed position, his arm under her neck, his other arm around her waist, his mouth at the back of her neck, her spine against his sternum blade and her ass cradled in the bend of his hips, thighs pressed to him.

Home. He was home. He breathed her scent in, relaxed. He said in the formal words that came to him of home. “My home is where the shadow of my Venri crosses the threshold.” and he surrendered to sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

An unspecified amount of time later, not enough for him to be rested, he woke to the sound of her voice. Pain whimpers. He held still and listened. His impulse was to draw her to him and wake her, but he was also voyeuristically curious about her dreams. He was beginning to think he should conspire with Dr. Chakwas to spike her drink with something that would help her sleep, but he wasn't to that point yet. He wasn't sure he wouldn't get there, but he owed her a conversation, a warning first. The fear of tipping her further into nightmare without being able to wake up, which would likely be the result while he blissfully slept, kept him from seriously considering it. Yet.

She said his name and his heart clenched. This wasn't one of her dreams where she recounted the lost. He needed to step very carefully here. She was grieving, she was exhausted and dispirited. She hadn't called Mordin's name as he'd expected. What happens in your head, Venri? What I wouldn't give right now to be an Asari, slip into your mind and be there with you. He imagined asking Liara to help and he rejected that idea also. Even if she could help, that was an unbearable level of vulnerability to ask of Morim. It would be presenting her as a problem to the crew. If he asked, he had no doubt she would submit to medication or Liara or whatever he felt best…eventually. If she could be brought to see it didn't just affect her. Unworthy to make it about the crew or about him. Manipulative. A later plan, not a first scouting.

She was backed up against him, her hand digging into his thigh, drawing blood at a plate rift. He suppressed a growl and the urge to draw her body back harder against him. He wanted so much to turn her pain into pleasure. She glowed a shimmering blue before breaking into a cry of frustration and pain. 

Please, Morim, no more biotics in your sleep. I've been through this, it's not fun.

This was very bad.

His earlier sense in the day of everything being wrong returned to him and he tilted his head carefully to be able to see her face more clearly. Pain. Regret. Grief. Something else that looked as close to surrender as he'd seen on her face. In her unguarded moments she feared not just loss in battle, but loss of will. Her scent had an edge of fear.

Now he was wide awake, watching and listening and not moving his body in response to her writhing. What is in your mind? The new thing was the surrender. It had not been there before. Follow that lead. Carefully. The Curtain of Morim would descend and block him out if he didn't move with caution. He tamped back his own panic and inadequacy and realized he was the only qualified person to be rooting around in her brain when she was incapacitated. He could wake her as though nothing had happened, but she would do this again, alone, unless he did something now. A suspicion started to form based on her scent and reactions. He decided he would investigate that dark alley in her mind.

His hand moved over hers on his thigh and she gripped his hand until he felt the plates would crack. The blue returned around her and her neck was strained to cords of muscle and breath. He closed his eyes and felt his way in the dark. He moved to her ear and said "Venri, tell me what you see" in a whispered command.

She responded to his voice by arching back against him, her voice a thin stream "Garrus, I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…I don't know…how did this happen to you, why wasn't I there? I don't remember, please…"

Then the dark fog from the alleyway lifted and resettled on more ominous shapes. He understood that in her mind, he was indoctrinated. Sharp physical pain gripped his chest, deep anguish gripped his mind. Praying for mercy would get him exactly nowhere. He swallowed hard, thinking that he'd been making life and death choices enough today that he shouldn't be intimidated by a dreaming woman, but he was. Make her show you. Be the man she needs.

He released his limbs from stasis and allowed his hands to move over her body, gentle but insistent. If what he suspected was true, he shouldn't speak until she was awake. Avoid twisting the knife in her gut while pointing out its presence to her. Her voice was anguished and needing as she thrust her breast into his hand, nipple hard against his palm. 

This was going to hurt.

In an effort to flank her he kissed at the back of her throat and pulled her against him, using his teeth until he was sure she had come awake entirely. The twist in her limbs had relaxed deliberately. She was aware of herself and still shaking off the dream. He settled his hands around her body and said in her ear "Venri, I had a nightmare."

She was very still, her breathing and pulse out of control for crucial seconds. She said carefully "It's just a dream, go back to sleep."

He made a sound of dismissive denial. "It haunts me while I am awake. I dream of you being indoctrinated."

Her breath sucked in and she bit her lip, eyes closed. Confirmation. He said simply "Tell me."

She shook her head. "Please let it go."

He said "You can't. I won't."

Her lip jutted in a stubborn curve "I'm telling you to let it go."

He tightened his arms around her and said "And I'm telling you I won't. Tell me."

She changed tactics and said "Why did I marry you?" She wriggled her ass against him and he groaned and then growled.

He said "Stop it, evil…space harpy."

She giggled briefly and then took a deep breath. Her voice was not steady. "I don't want to tell you because I don't want to hurt you. This is bad. This is ugly. This hurts. Please, let it go."

He said firmly "My beloved…no. I'm going to drag it out of you into the light whether or not you want me to."

She said in a warning voice close to a growl "That's the problem right there."

He considered the stab in her voice and said "You talk in your sleep, Venri. You're using biotics in your sleep. You are in pain. I've held my tongue until now, granted you privacy and patience, but it is getting worse. You are not managing well. I'm giving you absolute fair warning, Morim. I've considered drugging you in collusion with Karin and asking Liara to help resolve this. This is a problem. I am not going behind your back. Okay, I'm behind your back, but we're talking metaphorically here. I'm going to get it done and you know I can, so spit it out."

She tried to struggle away and he held her against him. She lit up blue and he saw it only a patch of a second before he was torn away from her, his talons leaving gashes deep in the skin across her hip and shoulder.

I believe you. This is bad. This is ugly. 

Pain lit up his head as his fringe was knocked into his skull against the wall. She has a cool down, he has seconds before she did it again and he has no doubt she would. He sheathed claws that were itching to fight back. She was beyond herself with anger and her eyes were flame and retribution. This is the wrong time to think she's stunning…while she's stunning. Seconds. He didn't make it far before she knocked him back again, force throwing the items in the room around in scattered whirls.

He should back down, but he only considered it for a flashing moment before he rejected the idea and lunged for her. No more words. She would start it, he would finish it. Very close quarters. She couldn't get away from him here. He realized quickly she didn't want to get away from him. She wanted to hurt him. When his arms were almost around her she chopped at his waist on a vicious angle and then when he bent over in pain she rammed her knee into his chin and followed up with another biotic blast, spinning him sideways into the same painful wall. Broken glass became a new hazard.

Seconds. He had seconds and bones yet unbroken. He didn't want to hurt her, but he would enjoy subduing her. Crazy was not going to win. He lunged for her again and managed to get her hand and he lost his knee, again, to a kick from her while he bent her pinky back in an attempt to control her with the pain as a threat. 

No. That just made her angrier. 

She turned to look at him with green fire and contempt and she leaned into his grip until her finger snapped. Then she punched him directly in the nose with the other hand. There was a sickening crack he heard and felt. Then she knocked him back again, blue forming around him.

Oh, fuck. He loved this woman so very much and she was going to kill him. I told you this was going to hurt. I had no idea how much. Another blue barrage smashed through him while he was still down. He scrambled to avoid a kick in the back, hoping that she wasn't really aiming for the vital nerve cluster. She'd only chopped his waist to disable him. To hurt him. Just exactly how crazy was she? From her eyes, lots. Lots of crazy.

Between a cool down he rolled to her feet and pulled them out from under her, avoiding her landing on him with the elbow she has ready on her way down. He laughed because humor was his gift, right? Oh, Spirits, I should be sorry, but I'm really not. She no longer looked broken. He definitely was broken but he liked the trade. He grabbed her while she struggled, but he knew he had her because grappling was his turf. To avoid the next round of biotics he got under her, her body on top, head banging on his sternum blade, hands at her sides, his arms locked over them. Glass along his back. Another burst of biotics and they were thrust into the air to bounce off the floor, air knocked out of both of them, glass digging further in, fringe providing another tearing reminder of what it meant to anger his bond mate. You are my bond mate and the only way you can stop me is to kill me. Her legs twined with his and he realized she was going to try to snap his spurs off with her toes. 

She was human and in pain, but he was Turian and a deep thrum of approval and admiration flooded him along with his concern for her safety. He was good enough to get behind her locked doors and see this face, feel this fight. She wouldn't kill him for witnessing it or provoking it. Well, maybe, but he wasn't dead yet and she could have killed him several times by now. 

He squeezed her until he knew she couldn't draw in breath and then got her legs trapped with his. She was immobile, but she was still lifting them off the floor periodically. He had her and he was laughing from that knowing, Turian sense of his soul. His head was turned to the side and he struggled to stay on the bottom despite her attempts to twist out of his grip. If she did this with her on the bottom she'd be worse off that he was. He was in terrible shape, blood dripping down the back of his throat from the worst broken nose he's ever had, and he's had a few. His knee burned like the phosphorus in their bonding ceremony. Everywhere she kicked and hit felt like he's been dented, plates buckling into his skin, glass ground in and free pieces under plates on skin that has never seen air. He squeezed to restrain her further, and she doesn't give up, but she does pass out from lack of oxygen eventually.

He relaxed his shoulders but didn’t trust it for a while, because she was a true Bakan. He held her tightly enough to restore pressure at any second for a few minutes, until he began to trust the rise and fall of her chest as her head stayed slumped to the side.

Well. He was on to something, that was for sure.

Oh, shit. Ask a big question. Despite his fierce pride in the progress they were making, he still had to get it out of her. He wasn't going to call Karin because it might get worse. He had no idea what was going to happen when she woke up. She was going to wake up. He'd better move his ass. 

He had a few ideas, grabbing the Medigel and slathering it over both of them. She hadn't lost that much blood other than the gashes on her hip and shoulder. Her finger was a clean break, he set it to the best of his ability. Her knuckles were mangled, toes and knees and elbows lacerated from contact with him. She might have other breaks, but it wasn't as clear. Again, he should be sorry, but he couldn’t find it anywhere. Exultant and terrified were all he had to hand. The worst of his own injuries were internal. As it happened with them, injuries occurred most days, so he had a good idea as to whether or not he was going to bleed to death. He was still exhausted, but with the adrenaline and purpose he had a few hours, and if they didn't get their shit together by then, he was going to have to tap out. If she let him. He grabbed two of the analgesic tablets and swallowed them, feeling some real anxiety about letting her just wake up and start over. 

I am in unknown territory here.

He'd still rather she shattered his joints than let her suffer in her sleep. He had to finish what he started, get her to talk. 

I'm still walking, maybe not for long, but you still can't stop me unless you kill me.

He found a blanket and carefully rolled her up inside of it, her arms trapped. She was physically immobilized. What about the biotics?

It's cheap, but I'm going to do it. 

He hefted the hamster cage. She would not harm her baby. I hope. You have fallen far in the world, Vakarian. Hiding behind Boo. Fuck yeah I'm hiding behind Boo. Did you see that magnificent creature at work? Hide. 

She was carefully propped up on the bed. He sat next to her with the hamster in his lap, until he moved a pillow between the cage and his knee.

He'd realized while wrapping up her body that his scary wife hadn't been eating. She'd brought him dinner but he would have bet his rifle she hadn't eaten any herself. How is that he overestimated the amount she was going to care for herself? Consistently. People were dying on Palaven over this. She couldn’t eat lunch while people were dying?

People dying was the reason she couldn't eat lunch. As if he needed more evidence that he was not the best leader. First Sidonis, then this, falling apart under pressure, endangering her. You didn't eat lunch. This is why this is happening, you lost track of yourself for one, maybe three days and she was trying to help you. She did help you. 

Now it's time to help her. No matter where it started, this is what he had to work with.

He moved carefully, putting Boo down between him and her, and scrounged for some cookies. He grabbed some water and analgesic tablets for her, noticing the positioning of his hamster shield took up a majority of his attention as he limped and hopped around the cabin.

He waited beside her on the bed. The pain was excruciating, but also cleansing, steeling him for more of a fight. She'd taught him some things about persistence. 

A few minutes passed before her neck stirred, then she made a grimace of pain, and then her eyes opened. He let her soak in the circumstances. She looked around, took a deep breath. He could see her try to move in the blanket, then realize she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and took in another long slow breath. She ignored him. He gave her some time. She reopened her eyes, looked pointedly at the hamster and then at him.

She glared at him, though the insane fire in her eyes was replaced by a normal level of insane. Hopefully progress. She said icily “I’m going to get out of this.”

He said “Eventually. Not until I get what I want.”

She said “Boo won’t protect you.”

He said “He will for now.” He brought a cookie to her mouth and she glared some more. He said “Morim, I swear to the Spirits, if you do not eat something and take this medication, I will find a way to make you do it.”

She tipped her head back and said “I know. You think I don’t know. I know.”

He said “Then eat the fucking cookie, Bakan, and take some medication before I find or make a funnel.”

She chewed, swallowed, accepted the tablets, swallowed and said “Does your knee hurt?”

He said “On a scale of 1 to 10 it’s fucking painful.”

She smiled and said “Good.”

He said “Tell me what set you off.”

She said “You. You set me off. You do it for me.”

He laughed bitterly and said “Your dreams, Bakan.”

She said “What are my nightmares? They're this.”

He said blankly "In your dreams I'm indoctrinated and I have your hamster?"

She shook her head and said "You didn't before, but now you will. Stop giving him ideas, he has enough of his own! Every vile thing I think shows up! You want to know my dreams. Okay.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “I’m bound. A bit like this. It hurts about the same. I’m cuffed to a wall with cuffs that will cut into me if I move too much or put weight on them. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m naked. I’m in the dark. I’m panicking.” She pauses and her mouth twists and she said “Just when my panicking can’t get worse I hear a voice.” She opens her eyes and says “I hear your voice. It’s everything I want. It’s everything I need. You’re in the room with me and I’m overjoyed and I don’t feel tired, or cold, or the pain in my hands. I start to tremble with the joy of you calling me Venri, you telling me I’m safe.”

His guts twist cold.

She continues and says “I’m given a passionate kiss from the man I love, my reason to live, and my toes curl on the stone. I’m going to be free.” She glares at him and his hands shake on the cage in his lap. He puts it down on the floor very carefully and quietly.

She says in a voice shaking as much as his hands “Except that will never happen. I’ll be given a choice, be indoctrinated or not be indoctrinated. I get to decide because I’m special.” She spits the word.

She looks down at the blanket and at the cage on the floor and says “My husband knows me so very well, he has all the ingenuity to make me make the right choice.” She laughs “He feeds me by hand, tends my wounds, tells me he has clones for spare parts for the times I break away and kill people before I’m dragged back, have my memory wiped and we get to start over.”

He remembers her saying ‘That’s the problem right there.’ A warning. A warning he’d misinterpreted. She’d said it to his threat of dragging it out of her. He’d said he’d drag it out of her ‘Whether or not you want me to.’

He tried to think of another way he could have gotten her to tell him, but he honestly can't. She has no sense of being a partner, not the way a Turian would. How did she not know that her dreams of him belonged to him?

Mordin's dead. Palaven needs him. He's been gone. She's been grieving. These might be the only circumstances to crack her hard enough to let this leak out. Otherwise she'd still be suffering and he would not know it. She'd hidden behind grief, she'd done it on purpose and he was horrified and angry.

She says “Everyone’s dead, Garrus. There’s nothing but me…and him…and 50,000 years away from the man who still loves me and wants me to join him, but doesn’t care anymore if I do or not because he’s just having so…much…fun. He tells me he’s tweaked the indoctrination process on my suggestions and analysis so he still has his full capacity to shred my will to confetti.”

Waves of grief and anger and fear lap at her features, changing, sliding and saturated.

She says “He knows I won’t hurt him. He’ll hurt himself for fun to control my behavior. He touches me and it’s you touching me. You’re in there. I can’t leave you. I will never leave you and I can never join you. I can’t die, I have no mission, nobody left to save. I don’t know how you were captured and you make up a different story each time. I get the truth when I make the right choice. Markings that match yours. You keep telling me it won’t hurt if I don’t struggle.”

He finally finds his voice and says gently “Him. Not you. Him.”

She shook her head “It’s you. It would be lovely if it were him and he were beating me or hurting me or…or anything but what you can do to me.”

He sounded speculative “What I can do to you, huh?”

She blew hair out of her face. “Congratulations, you’ve inspired indoctrination porn.”

He said “I sound badass.”

She said “Get me out of this fucking blanket.”

He narrowed his eyes "No, I don't think so. You can order me, as my Avah, as my commander, if you truly believe it is the right thing to do. Go ahead and try it." He stared at her and she stared back and then tipped her head back in exhaustion.

She said "I told you what you asked."

He said "But that's not all that I want."

She muttered "Of course it isn't. What do you want?"

He said "Tell me. Are you ever indoctrinated in your dreams?"

She sais "No. That would be easier."

He said "And you hold out, I…he…never indoctrinates you?"

She said "No, because he…you…can't."

He said "Seems like you've got it about right anyway. So what you're telling me is that even in your dreams, I can have sex but I'll never get in your head?"

She sighed "It looks that way. You can get to 99% of my head."

He said "You asked me what I want? I deserve 100%. It's my right as your bond mate. I want the right to protect you, not when you feel it is convenient, but always when you need it, certainly when you want it. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you call me when you woke from nightmares? Why do you hide them?"

She said "I didn't get that far. In my defense there’s a lot going on. I told myself to protect you from it."

He said "I have a nightmare, Venri. My bond mate is hungry, tired, in pain and in chains of her own making."

She said "Technically it's a blanket. Get me out of this and I will talk, but I can't promise I won't break something else once you get me out of this unless you do it now."

He said “Do your feet hurt, can you stand?”

She said “Everything hurts. Stand me up and get this off, I don’t want to roll over on my finger.”

He said “You’re badass too, by the way.”

She said “Oh…I’m never recovering from this. I take it back, just load me into a torpedo bay and let me go with dignity.”

He set about balancing and unraveling her and said "We are both far past dignity, and we don't have a torpedo bay."

She said "Then fucking get me one."

When she was free she punched him with her uninjured hand across the jaw but under the mandible and he could tell it hurt her more than it hurt him. She shook her hand out and swore, having split skin again where she'd punched into an edge of his plates and not much else. She then stepped into his arms as they closed around her.

She said “Your nose is bleeding. Again.”

He said “It’ll stop.”

She said “Don't restrain me again.”

He said “I make no promises. Sometimes you really like it. Don't be a dumbass and bear a weight concerning us both alone.”

She said “No promises.”

He sighed and said “Looks like we understand each other.” He kissed the top of her head, getting blood in her hair. “Venri, you need to remember this. I forgive you for getting me indoctrinated. If you hand me over as a present with a bow wrapped around my mandible, I forgive you. That and you need to Spectre up and kill me. I wouldn’t want that. Eternity together does sound romantic, but not like that.”

She leaned into him and he was grateful again she was so small and he only needed one leg. She said “I can’t kill you.”

He stroked her hair, said “Bullshit, you almost did right now.” He sighed “I’m still really, really angry at you.”

She shrugged and said “I’m still really thinking about taking out your other knee. You are not the only one who has a back of the brain.”

He said "Spirits, I love it when you talk dirty." He decided he'd risk it because backing away from this moment would leave them both isolated and terrified. Everything hurt and hurt badly but he had to touch her. He wouldn't allow a shadow to fall between them or her fears to rule. No retreat. He relocated them to the couch, avoiding glass. He wrapped her legs around his back and her arms around his shoulders. He still had bits of glass sticking into him. They were both exhausted and mangled. He held her chin in his hand and said "You need to know that you can't stop me. I am not a dream you can sculpt to your specifications. No amount of removing my joints or cracking my plates will stop me. You can hit me. You can hurt me. It will not change truth. The truth is that you need me and there is a price to pay for that. I will not let the fear of losing you keep me from you. I will not allow you to separate from me in order to comfort yourself that you can do without me. You can't. At some point you are going to have to realize that you made a promise and you need to keep it. If giving me that last 1% of your mind causes your doom, that's just too bad. It's too late." He growled "You will need me. You will let me in. What I ask belongs to me and it is your duty to give it. This isn’t theoretical, this isn’t human. This is what I require as a Turian bond mate."

Her eyes were still fire and strength as she said "And if I use you to shut off my mind, to deny reality by flooding my veins with some feeling I can never get for myself alone, that's okay? I should lead you around by your cock?"

His breathing tripped over itself and then regained pace faster "I'll get you a leash, Bakan. Just see if I complain. Yes, you stupid fucking woman. Yes. Use me. Of course use me. Without you my body has no purpose." He ran up again against the difference between human and Turian. Wasn’t she already doing that? Didn’t she know that she could, she should? He’d been using her body, taking pride in it, the word perhaps was not translated. Humans and shame. Was it all of them or just her?

She said "I'll hurt you."

He said "Yes. Clearly. If anything I want you more. Not because of the pain itself, but because it means something to see each other in pain. You chose to need me, not want me. I chose that before you did. Take. Stop being so fucking polite. I am your mate, not your waiter. Stop worrying about inconveniencing me and fucking inconvenience me."

She said “People might die because Commander Shepard has a leashed Turian.”

He said “People die every day, Bakan. Live with me.”

She said "I am so fucked."

He said with a deep laugh "Yes."

She let out a hungry sound before her mouth crashed into his. The violence and blood and talk of need scattered through his blood and he thought in a flash. Blood. That’s what’s different between Turian and human…pain and her mouth, oh, Bakan, your mouth. She was biting at his mouth plates and he moved her head to the side of his throat. He’d only drawn his own blood one time and she never did it. That…that’s why I don’t get enough of her. He was covered in his own blood and that let him know. He needed it. Not just hers. That’s what…

He pressed her mouth to his skin and said “Bite, Bakan. Bite hard enough to taste blood. Bite hard enough to mark.” He hadn’t asked her before because it was buried too deep. Back of the brain. Bonding. Her teeth were not sharp. His skin was not delicate. She didn’t pierce so much as crush and his spine rattled with it. Turians mated and cut at each other, licked at the cuts, and the blood mingled, the taste on the tongue…

He moved her mouth to his in anticipation and bit at her tongue until he tasted them both in her mouth. She was covered already with his scent, he was covered in hers. If his knee could have held him he would have had her flat on her back in seconds. He remembered vaguely he’d told her to use him but his need for her in this moment guided his actions as he lifted her and slammed her down on him, throwing his head back in a long keening cry as her mouth moved back over to his throat, licking at him, kissing him again, wrapping her legs around him tighter until he was as deep as he could be inside her. Reverie turned the pain singing in all corners of his body into music directed by her mouth and the tight grip of her legs, the wet welcome of her body and the way he fit her, reached for her, ached and trembled until a new wave of everything being right overcame him. Hands touched her, his mouth urged her, his tongue tasted her and everything was right again. 

They would keep discovering things about each other, but they knew how to touch, how to find.

If it weren’t for the dizziness from blood loss, everything would be perfect except for all the things that weren’t. You do know how much I want you safe in a room, all my own…oh Spirits, Bakan, I love you so much.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She had three broken fingers, two broken toes, the gashes and some glass lacerations. Her hands took the brunt of the damage she’d done to herself while she was hitting him. She was bruised here and there otherwise, but nothing serious. At least he had that. At least though she’d lost it for good reason, he’d kept it for good reason.

He had a shattered knee, five plates that required reinforcement, seven plates requiring relief of pressure from swelling underneath, innumerable patches, four broken ribs, a cracked fringe spike, torn skin at the fringe bases, a broken nose and a fractured jaw. Everything else hurt, too.

He would never have to ask again why she didn’t cut loose. He had yet to see her full temper because she had still had the presence of mind to injure and not kill. 

The loss of a knee was at least maiming.

He smiled because he had a very prominent human-made bite mark on his neck. He was proud. He was itching for someone to ask. He was hoping it would scar over. No Medigel for there, thank you.

Dr. Chakwas had not asked any questions and Morim insisted that she work on Garrus first. The housing and internal workings of his knee were a loss and she had to construct a replacement. It wasn’t as complicated as a human knee due to exoskeleton reinforcement and jointing. He’d have to stay while it was fabricated and then pass a physical examination. He could still get work done from here, it would only be a day or so.

Morim never said she was sorry because she wasn’t sorry. She had told him the truth. She hadn’t made up a lie.

He wouldn’t said he was sorry because he wasn’t sorry. He had struck at the truth, a truth she’d withheld for too long.

She was curled up next to him on the Med Bay bed after being patched up, his blood still in her hair.

Normally this kind of thing would be a setback in a relationship. Considering she’d been tortured by the fact that she couldn’t abandon him under even the worst circumstances, he’d just have to bear up under being loved that much. There was no way to reassure her. He couldn’t promise her that he’d kill himself before being captured, because that would be worse. He silently vowed to himself that he would kill himself before he would be captured. She’d likely worked out the odds. He didn’t need to know them to trust that the thing that drove her to maim him was real enough to worry about. 

He was less convinced that obsessive worry was a strength she had and thought perhaps she could attribute brilliance to hard work and planning while awake. 

Maybe they’d get better at this, find easier paths to truth. Maybe she’d learn the demands of a Turian mate and what that meant. Maybe he’d learn the restraint of a woman not accustomed to caring for herself.

What he did know is that she slept for hours, bonelessly trusting, her only sounds soft contentment when she shifted position to get closer.

That, and she drooled.


	20. Chapter 20

Shepard

When she woke it was because Dr. Chakwas needed the bed, needed to access his knee and she had to leave. Garrus woke her quietly with his arm tightening around her, where it had no doubt been all day…night…what time was it?

He said “Venri. Karin needs to get some work done, make me pretty again. You should wash the blood out of your hair. I’m sorry I’m going to miss it.”

She sighed and held on tight for a moment, quiet sleep giving way to the various clamors of what the fuck did I do.

She said quietly "I'm not sorry."

He said "I know. I'm not sorry too."

She said "Are you still angry?"

He said "Yes."

She said "Me too. I'm not sorry I love you."

He said "I'm not sorry too."

She said “I really don’t want to go.”

He said “You know where I’ll be.”

She wanted to hold his hand but her fingers were broken, so…she covered his hand with hers, then kissed him on the side of the neck and dragged herself from him reluctantly.

Back to showering off blood and other familiar things.

She cleaned up, finding the new emotional ground she was on to the best of her ability. She would do this one step at a time.

They were headed back to the Citadel for a variety of planned meetings, supply checks, refuels and interviews. She had been in steady meetings and conferences from the irate Dalatrass to the exultant Wrex. She wasn’t giving up on Salarian support. She was going to try to outflank the Dalatrass diplomatically if necessary. She was doing her best to understand Salarian treaty law and compelled service circumstances. Mordin's people should be in this fight and 'no' wasn't an acceptable answer. 

Still, nobody had woken her up or demanded that she be somewhere. No doubt Karin’s prescription and Garrus’s implied growling. Everything was still going to hell at the same rate. Even if it had accelerated, the people closest to her had given her time away from it. Time she needed. Her mind seemed reasonably sane right now, she should keep it up, not squander it.

She checked back in with her crew. 

Vega said “Nice one, Lola.”

She responded “You should see the other guy.”

Vega said “I did. Smug bastard has a bite mark on his throat.”

She said “Yeah, well, consolation prize, you know.”

Vega answered “Any time you want to console me, you just let me know.”

She said “Was there a pool on when I was going to beat on him?”

He said “No, unfortunately we expected you guys to work it out like grownups. Stupid us, huh?”

She said “Oh, it was grown up.”

Vega said “If you say so.”

She said “Garrus is out of the rotation for continuing Normandy Bloodbath. You and Javik okay on handling sparring workshops? I do want back in at some point. I appreciate you guys taking this over.”

Vega said “We got it covered. We know Scars Plus One is busy with Palaven and you’re busy with politician dumbasses. Javik’s good. He likes beating people up and they get a lesson in Prothean tactics, so everyone’s happy.”

She said "You learning anything?"

He said "Just that Garrus would have a tougher time today than that first bullshit round."

She said “That’s what I like to hear. Thanks, Vega. I’ve got some ideas about workshops on working on different types of armor sets, how to break the joints and weak points. I haven’t thought it all out yet, but I will. We’re headed back to the Citadel and hopefully we can swing some shore leave.”

He said “Great. I’ve got some money to burn.”

She laughed “All right. I’ll know where to find you then. Okay. I’m off to get publically humiliated by everyone on the ship.”

He said “Yeah, well, I would assume it’s going to be done with humor. Nobody wants you getting another broken finger. Nobody wants a nose like his. You guys are okay, right? I mean, I don’t want to laugh something off if you are not okay. You were wrapped around the guy like a vine. If you wonder why people aren’t mad at you or him, it’s because enough people saw you sleeping and his face.”

She said “So there’s no possible way that people are going to buy that this was just a separate mission, huh?”

He laughed “We’re military, that doesn’t mean we’re stupid. I’m sure somebody could pretend to not know. Diana’s going to herniate something not broadcasting it. If she does, though, if anybody else does, I will fucking kill them with extreme prejudice. We can give you shit, nobody else can. You weren’t on a mission. No hope of that. Try harder or don’t beat the shit out of your husband. Nobody’s mad because you broke your hands on him. He clearly isn't mad at you.”

She smiled “Oh, we're still mad, but that’s good to know. Thank you. We are okay. As okay as you can be in this mess, anyway. It won’t affect the mission.”

He said “Mad about what? Tell me to fuck off if that's too much."

She said "I had a nightmare, a bad one. I started using biotics. I'm not sure I can do much about my nightmares. He thinks I should. Based on the results, he may be right. Mordin, Palaven, it's all bad. Grief and exhaustion got to me. Though if he'd stayed down…"

Vega laughed "Yeah, that's not going to happen. Thanks for telling me. Makes sense. Can't control what happens when your brain isn't working. I admit to some curiosity and I appreciate the confidence. Glad I don't have to wake you up. Well, maybe. He seems to think it was worth it. I know it wouldn't affect the mission, for either of you. He'd have a tough time scrambling just this moment, but I still wouldn't bet against him. Just don’t be surprised if people are worried about you. People like me. Okay? You need anything, you ask.”

She said “Okay. That seems to be…the general theme. He deserved better. You deserve better. I do need something, you guys are helping me get it. I could try to hide it, but I do need you guys to understand, if you can, and not feel I'm fucking it all up. Tell me if I am. I'll do something about the dreams. I should have before now, I just didn't.”

He said "Oh, I'm fine. I am entertained. You start fucking up on the field and not just on his face, I will be the first to let you know. So you gotta take me with you more often."

She said "Next one, I promise. You know, James, you haven't asked me for a damned thing, unlike pretty much everyone else I've ever served with, including my husband, who has a habit of asking me to kill people for him."

He laughed "What I need you're already giving me. Go illuminate the rest of the crew. Record it, let me watch. Best day ever."

She grinned and worked her way over to Cortez, who said nothing about her injuries other than a slight warmth and concern in his voice. They went over resupply lists and expectations of the Citadel.

When she was wrapping it up he said with humor "Well, Commander, someone's been using up a lot of Medigel and splints."

Her lips twitched "I'll dock their pay for draining supplies."

He said "That's good. Let's just double the next order."

She said "Got plans?"

He said "What the hell, it looks like fun."

The worst was going to be Joker, so she headed there next.

Joker said “Hey. Commander. I don’t need to worry, right? You’re not just beating up the highest ranking people and working your way down? I need time to flee.”

She said “Don’t worry. You’re low enough on the list that you’d hear me coming after I worked through everyone else.”

She said “Ouch. That kinda hurt my feelings.”

She said “Look, if I wanted to beat you up I’d just tip your chair over, okay? It’d be over, real fast.”

He laughed “All right. Everything’s okay headed to the Citadel. We changing course?”

She said “No, I just wanted to get out in front of the laughter.”

He said “You are way too late for that. Hey, Commander, what do you call a Turian that pisses off his wife?

Morim dutifully said “What?”

He said “A Blue Plate Special. How could that not be funny? You should do it every day.”

EDI spoke up quietly “Why did you do it at all?”

Morim turned to her “Do what?”

EDI said “Why is Advisor Vakarian in the Med Bay with a broken…I could quantify his injuries, I have access to his medical records, but I believe you are aware of the extent. Why did you hit him?”

Joker said “EDI, that might be a little too personal. I’ll make fun of them, but if you’re going to ask, I’ll listen.”

Morim said “EDI…what I feel for Garrus is love. Love can be very protective and comforting. It can also be very passionate and painful. It covers a whole person, including all the things that hurt. I was afraid and I struck out at him and I hurt him a lot. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I will always love him, he will always be the closest to me when I am at my worst, and I will always have reasons to be afraid.”

EDI nodded solemnly “Will this change your relationship with him?”

Morim said “That we love one another, no. That won't change. What will change is that I need to manage my fears better. My fears form into nightmares and I was using biotics in my sleep. I would like to avoid doing harm. He avoided doing harm to me.”

Joker said “Well, you can always kill someone else.”

Morim said “That would be ideal. Unfortunately we can’t kill enough people to eliminate the fear. The more people I kill, the more people who die under my command, like Mordin, the worse it gets.”

Joker said “I heard that.”

Morim said "EDI, do you dream?"

EDI said "I do not. I am aware of the phenomena, but I do not experience it myself. If Jeff and I were to be…involved…would I…Commander Shepard, you are the only example of romantic love I have at my disposal. I have seen you both under so many circumstances, I never would have thought that you would hurt him. Would I…hurt Jeff?”

Joker said “Is it too late to take back the part where I was snooping gleefully into someone else’s business?”

Morim smiled “Nope. You’re in.” She turned to EDI “EDI, consider. In that time that you have seen us together, while we are on duty, how much of our time is spent in combat or preparing for combat in percentages?”

EDI said “73% of your time combined while awake is spent in that pursuit or planning.”

Morim said “Sounds about right. And you have seen us spar for fun. So in a way this is what we do. We are trained, we have instincts, we have defenses. My reaction in part was due to him trying to restrain me and then not backing down when I hurt him involuntarily. How much time does Jeff spend in combat?”

EDI said “0%. But I train myself, and I am getting better.”

Morim said “You are. I can speak for Jeff by saying he would never try to restrain you or fight with you physically."

Joker said "Not unless it was in a sexy way. Never say never."

Morim said "Stipulated. And it can be in a sexy way. Garrus and I were primed to fight, we have fought. Do you want to fight with Jeff?”

EDI said “No. I am relieved.”

Joker said “You’re telling me.”

Morim said “EDI, I can’t explain all of it. We’re under stress, we’re working hard. We love each other. Garrus is okay with it. More than okay with it, the fighting part at least. He’s a Turian accustomed to and invigorated by combat. You don’t need to worry that you’ll hurt Jeff. He’s a human and invigorated by you. ”

EDI said “I do like seeing humans on their knees.”

Joker said “Oh hell no.”

Morim said “I’ll leave you guys to work this out.”

Joker said “Coward.”

Morim said “Time for me to miraculously not go punch someone else. I hope.”

EDI said “Thank you Commander.”

She stopped briefly to speak to Samantha, who was more nervous than usual.

Morim said "Take a breath, Traynor. I'm not going to hit you."

Samantha said "Oh, I'm so sorry, Commander, I didn't mean to…I didn't..."

Morim put a hand on her shoulder "It's okay. I'm okay. Does that help? Garrus will be okay."

Samantha said "I…thank you, but…I do not understand how you can go about your business."

Morim said "I kill people every day. I just beat him up."

Samantha said "I am never going to fit in."

Morim laughed "You fit in fine. Come on, tell me about your brilliant deductions."

Samantha opened her mouth and then closed it and then said "Well, I think perhaps you and Garrus are under a great deal of stress…"

Morim laughed again "I meant about any possible data you've been crunching. Getting me Jack has given me great expectations."

Samantha blushed and said "Oh, oh. I feel I need to swear here. I don’t swear much. Not in front of you."

Morim said "Unlike Jack. Samantha, you are a member of my crew and although I don't owe you explanations as a crew member, I will be happy to give them. You are also my friend."

Samantha said "Really?"

Morim said "Really."

Samantha said "I don't even know where to start. I…uh…are you all right, Commander?"

Morim said "I'm tired. You are correct, I am under a great deal of stress. I had a nightmare about Garrus being indoctrinated."

Samantha said "Oh. Oh. And you hit him…"

Morim said "And I hit him. And he wanted to know what my dream was and I didn't want to tell him and I hit him some more."

Samantha said "So he…oh. Are you going to hit him again? There are quite a few chemical treatments for nightmares available, some with no side effects on testing."

Morim said "I'm trying to prevent hitting him again. Tell me about the treatments. I need to ask Dr. Chakwas about them. I have a one knee limit. Do they work on biotics?"

Samantha was very helpful and Morim was beginning to feel more than a little ashamed for not dealing with nightmares sooner. Everyone was helpful. Why hadn’t she anticipated that?

She still wasn't sorry for hitting him, but she would do something about not doing it again.

Javik was disdainful and disinterested on the surface, but pleased she'd come to speak to him. 

She said "Javik, Vega tells me you're kicking ass in Normandy Bloodbath. I'm glad to hear it, I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it."

Javik said "Your duties take you elsewhere. Besides, if I could break Vakarian's nose myself, I would not need to instruct underlings."

She said "This overling appreciates your efforts. I'll get my shit together at some point and we can get that time in the ring."

Javik said "I look forward to it, Commander. Do please keep up practicing."

Liara was her next stop.

Liara took a look at her, quietly asked Glyph to go into passive mode, and walked over to her and gave her a hug. Morim stood there for a good long while.

Morim pulled back and said "I think I broke my Turian."

Liara laughed lightly and pushed Morim's hair back and said "I'm assuming he deserved it. Did he?"

Morim said "Yes and no. It could have been prevented. I was dreaming about him being indoctrinated and I wouldn’t tell him. They were…they were terrible dreams, it hurt to think about them, worse to talk about them, even worse to have him think I saw him that way. I was using biotics in my sleep, he was trying to make them stop. I don't know how to make them stop."

Liara said "Morim, I can help. Not forever, not always, but I can certainly lessen the severity."

Morim laughed and said "He threatened me with coming to you to solve the problem…"

Liara said "Well, I can understand not wanting to be threatened…but why didn't you?"

Morim said "Right now, in the clear light of day, amid all this support, I don't know. They started a while back but they didn't really impact me until Mordin died. Too much grief, too much guilt, likely believing I deserved to face my fears…plus not in a habit of asking for help. I should have known better. Garrus was going to collude with you or Karin eventually, but he wanted to warn me first. I wanted to prevent…this…what I have now. Everyone knowing, me explaining to anybody. Now I'm telling everyone and I'm going to deal with it head on. He deserves that."

Liara said "You deserve that. Your pain is not something we take lightly."

Morim said "And I appreciate that. How can you help? I don't want you to…I don't want you to have to see it. They scare the hell out of me, it scares me more that my brain came up with it in the first place."

Liara said "No, I won't look at that. Not if you don’t want me to. Dream therapy is an Asari specialty, but privacy is paramount."

Morim said "I still…really…even if you did see…I'd still do it, I just…really fucking hate this. This is not a good use of your time."

Liara laughed and said "Every one of us owes our life to you. Yes, I helped bring you back, but I still owe you my life many times over. Our lives depend on you, Morim. Let us help. I don’t know why you will help until you bleed or die, but you won't accept it in return. I mean, I do know, I was in your head, I don't need a refresher course on that. But it will not take your ability to command from you if you acknowledge wear and tear and damage. Garrus and I don't deserve being denied the right to help you. I can help you. If your leg were cut off you'd let me bandage it and not apologize for getting your blood on me."

Morim smiled "I might. You don't know."

Liara said "Please. Morim. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Garrus. Do it for me. Do it for Karin and Vega and EDI."

Morim said "I wouldn't have brought it up if I weren't willing. I will also ask Karin about some level of chemistry aid. I'm addicted to a Turian and I'm terrified of losing him and it all hurts. No matter what happens, Mordin's still dead."

Liara said "Okay. I promise that what I am about to do, it will not invade your privacy. It's more like…a valve, and I let off pressure. I don't need to see what's inside unless you give me permission. It won't stop all nightmares, but it should stop them from making you lose sleep or use your biotics or kick the hell out of your husband. Will you let me? Say yes."

Morim said "Yes."

Liara said "Thank you." Her hands came to Morim's temples. This wasn't like the previous bonding, there was no reaching for specific information. She didn't even say "Embrace Eternity" because she wasn't as dramatic or formal as she once was. She was a friend, that’s all she felt. Friendship. Love. Support. Trust. A powerful, gentle light to push back darkness. She could think all thoughts, they would be the same thoughts, they wouldn't hurt as much. Confidence. Genuine confidence in the form her mind would take naturally, not like the courage of being drunk. Fully lit trust.

When Liara pulled back Morim kept her eyes closed and said "Man, I missed out, didn't I?"

Liara said "You know it. Go tell Garrus you love him."

Morim smiled and said "He knows. Do it again."

Liara smiled and said "Later. Anytime later."

Morim said "All right. Just don't be surprised when I wake you up in the middle of the night…"

Liara laughed "Uh huh. I'll just hold my breath."

Morim said "Thank you, Liara, from the bottom of my unworthy heart."

Liara said "You are welcome, my dearest friend."

Morim walked with lighthearted and lightheaded steps to pick up a meal for Garrus and then made her way to the Med Bay.

Garrus watched her as she entered, his eyes following her without a smile, but with that particular blend of hunger and attention in his eyes that made Vega jealous of losing a knee.

She set down his meal within reach of him and then said "Dr. Chakwas, Samantha Traynor mentioned something about medication for sleep to suppress nightmares in biotics. Do you have any you could recommend or prescribe?"

Garrus held very still and listened.

Karin said "I believe so. It might take some feedback from you to titrate the correct dosage, but I can synthesize a version that should be compatible with biotic metabolism."

Morim said "Thank you, that would be a huge help and reduce occupancy."

Dr. Chakwas said "Excellent. It will help us all. I'll have that for you in a few hours."

Morim said "Thank you" and then turned back to Garrus. She smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting her hand over his. "How are you?" She asked.

Garrus said "Thank you for bringing food, but I couldn't eat any more. I've been brought seven meals in quick succession by curious people."

She said "Curious no more. I told them about my nightmares."

He said "You told…them? Who them?"

She said "Everyone knows by now."

He said tightly "Knows…what…exactly…?"

She said "That I have them. That I have them of you being indoctrinated. That I lost control of my biotics. That I hurt my husband. I've been assured it will stay on this ship, but I doubt it. "

He closed his eyes and said "Venri…you do nothing by half measures."

She said "Liara is willing to help me with nightmares, it's an Asari thing. It's nice. I'm not sure I made the correct choice in life partner."

He said "I'm glad and don't make me kill her."

She said “When are you getting out of here?”

He said “I need to stay for a little while.”

She said “I’ll stay here tonight.”

He said “No. Go to our cabin. We’ve provided enough of a show for now. Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

She said “We could get Karin to close the shades.”

He said “No. Not here. Take your well being and your medication and get some sleep.”

She said “I will miss you.”

He smiled and took her hand gently, kissing her palm. “No, you won’t.”

She sighed “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”

He said “I know what I need. Nothing will keep me from her.”

She said “I really, really like the sound of that.” She leaned forward and kissed him and his hand held the back of her neck. Dizziness and flutters. She pulled away when he allowed it and faced the rest of her day with hope.

Liara’s emotional measures didn’t hamper her. She still had the numbers, the possibilities, the exacting necessity. It just didn’t hurt as much, didn’t weigh as much. She’d had her mind touched by the Consort and Liara had missed her Calling. Only a century old. Liara as a Matron…Morim wouldn’t live to see it. She was determined to allow Liara to see it.

She was also able to sort out her body’s feedback with new clarity. Hunger. Thirst. Tiredness. She addressed them when they came up, feeling again rather silly for making such a big deal out of simple problems that she’d had all the tools to solve.

She made it to their cabin, Karin had the sleep medication delivered. She’d promised minimal sedation and only a tendency to tone down conscious memory of dream signals, limiting the wave amplitude during REM sleep, which would also be measured biometrically when she downloaded a recommended program to her Omni Tool. Karin recommended the medication at low dosage to begin, possibly raising or lowering according to feedback. All right. Sounded good. She took the medication and did notice that her mind was quieter, calmer, not chewing on any problem in particular. Weird. Definitely weird. Good weird. Almost Reverie weird. Contentment of the same flavor, but not intensity.

She wondered whether or not the medication and Reverie would interact, then forgot to be worried about it and slipped seamlessly into sleep with no dreams she could recall.

She woke to his arms around her and a soft but deep rumbling growl that traveled through her spine as she arched back against him. She felt waves of beautiful… perfect… loved…wash over her. The only hard edges were on his body, pressed to hers. Pleasures seemed to echo off every thought in her mind, amplified and focused. When she tried to shift to turn to him, he held her still, his growl moving deeper into negative range, then back. His hands came to hers, and he traced the splinted fingers, his growl affirmative as she held still, approving. She arched her neck to invite him, and he moved, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, that delicious purr rumbling against her back and her skin. He was gentle and slow, long brush strokes and points from his mouth. He stopped growling only long enough to say “Morim. Venri. I love you.” And then he went back to his growl. Something was odd about his voice. She understood the words, but his pronunciation…he was speaking English. He’d turned off her translator and he was speaking English. She wanted to move her hands but she didn’t. She said quietly “Garrus. Venri. Met konar ven.” Turian. ‘You are my heart.’

His appreciative groan melded back into his growl as he turned her to her back, his hands tracing the lines of her face, drinking in her smile in the dim light. His knee was either better or he was willing to risk it, because with speed that caused more flutters to spread out through her body, he had her caged in, knees to either side of her hips, hands to either side of her neck. When she forgot and her arms came around him, he gave another negative sounding growl and set her hands down at her sides and said “No” in English. She smiled and said “Tas?” which meant ‘please?’ and he said “No. Morim. Protect…fangs.” Which she assumed meant fingers.

He’d done some homework. She hadn’t learned ‘knee’ in Turian. She couldn’t move her hands to ask and she doubted that he’d admit it hurt him if there was a bullet through it anyway.

She said “Venri set suntkan lim.” ‘My bondmate’s needs are my own.’ A formal acquiescence of will, something considered for their ceremony and discarded by Solona in the planning. Probably too formal, but it was the best she could do. It was possible she was saying it wrong, but he heard her as she had intended, a groan-growl turning into a caged kiss, his sternum blade just far enough to touch as she breathed, his arms against her neck and his hips and thighs hovering over and around her with him suspended in space, an absolute. Her hands moved again, but she remembered and settled back, pulling the sheets between her fingers to give her something to hold on to, to remember.

He kept up the growl and said “Good.”

No kidding good, she thought, but couldn’t say it. Instead she growled along with him, trying to imitate the ‘happy Turian’ sound. Softer, higher, and missing the beautiful overlapping tones his voiced produced. He heard it and understood and laughed in a way that tightened her throat and squeezed her closer to mindless. He kissed her until she was panting and he slowly lowered himself to her until she was arching her hips to his, her breasts brushing against his chest, nipples hard and Reverie causing the ache to melt into anything he wanted. Hold any shape for him. And then it hit her, what he was saying, what he was doing. Speaking her language, protecting her fingers, growling his pleased growl. She’d made him happy. She was human, he’d speak English. She didn’t have to touch him. Just being there made him happy.

She still remembered something more, something before her wits fled. She moved her mouth from his and toward his throat, craning her neck until he turned his throat to her and growled again, a sharp edge to it. The hair at the back of her neck and upper arms rose up at the sound. She tasted his blood and then bit her own lip, then moved her head back to look at him and say clearly “Suntkan, Venri.” She meant – this is what you need – but didn’t think it meant that, just the words together. She didn’t know how to say ‘for you’ and sense was fading, but he couldn’t have mistaken the words or the gesture.

His eyes slipped from tender, protective, to hungry and feral, then slipped into hooded intent. He accepted her offering with a long kiss, the tip of his tongue gliding over her lips, his absolute form held upright still, without a tremble. He pulled his head back from her, took one hand, still held up without moving and used his hand to drag along the scent line, painting her deliberately along collarbones and cheekbones. He said low, in English “Mine.”

She answered in Turian “Tas.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathed in a long inhale, and pulled back from her, resettling himself to support himself on his knees, bending forward to lick at her breasts, teasing nipples between his fingers, caging them in his hands, drawing lines and curves on her skin as she whimpered and wound the sheet tighter around fingers to keep from pressing his head closer. She arched up against him instead, nearly drawing blood on a sharp gasp and surge.

His hands moved to her waist, his tongue on her navel, saying softly “Shhhhh…Venri, shhhh….”

She whimpered in a strangled cutoff to let him know how she felt about shhhh and he laughed against her skin and dragged his fluttering mandibles lower until they spread against her inner thighs, saying again “Mine.” and waiting until she said “Tas.” In a short burst between gasps.

He was slow and deliberate, humming and growling against her, licking at her clit and sliding a finger into her, then changing, driving his tongue into her and stroking her with fingertips and talon edges while he held her hips still with one hand. It kept her off balance and unable to build to an orgasm, falling off cliffs of sensation to drown in a new one and try to catch her breath. Sweat broke out on her skin and her thighs began to tremble and a keening built in her throat. He switched one last time until he drove his finger inside to curl in and press with his tongue rough and insistent, not stopping until her breath came in uncontrolled pants and then the rhythmic moans that went with the clenching spasms around his finger, against his mouth as he hummed approval.

He rose up on his knees and bent over her, guiding his cock inside with a heavy wrenched groan. He growled again and told her “Mine. You say…Venri…Mine.”

She was lost in sensation and she didn’t understand, said “Tas…Garrus…”

He growled again and pressed deeper inside, and said “Venri…Morim…you say…Mine.”

She didn’t know the word in Turian. She wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer and said “Mine.”

He growled in approval and said again. “Garrus…mine.”

She said “Garrus. You are mine.”

He growled, pulled from her and drove in again, holding inside, reaching and said “Please.”

She pulled him forward with her legs and he came down on his elbows, kissing her lips and then offering her his throat. She nipped and licked at him until he pulled from her and kissed her again with a deep keen she recognized as a sign of his surrender, trembles loose in his limbs and his voice. He licked at her bitten lip, showing her what she did to him, how much he wanted her, how much he loved her. He rolled to the side to keep from collapsing on her, his hand in her hair, his other hand pulling her more tightly against him and him inside her with another groan from him and a gasp from her. He whispered her name and she whispered his, until she drifted away, contented.


	21. Chapter 21

Garrus

He attempted to sneak back into the Med Bay, but Karin was there now and it wasn't as easy as sneaking out had been.

Karin didn't look up but said "You're going to warp the matrix of that knee. You should be in bed."

He sauntered back to his spot and said "I was. I kept weightbearing load to its minimum based on research I did on the material."

She sighed and gestured for him to let her examine his knee, which he did. She seemed satisfied and then said "Perhaps you could be of some use after all. There's a tracking program on Morim's Omni Tool. It appears the medication is working. Except for, of course, an extended period of time not sleeping while you were missing. How is my other patient?"

He said "Your other patient is more than fine. Liara also helped her with a…what do I call it, I don't even know. Brain whammy? Melding? I won't use the word bonding because it is personally offensive."

Karin said "That explains a great deal about the changes in her readings. So she's under the influence of an Asari therapist, a personally tailored medication and Turian bonding chemistry. It's a wonder she's still breathing."

He said smugly "She does appear to almost stop sometimes, but she starts again."

Karin said "I can't calculate all the possible interactions with what’s going on. I'm going to need a sample."

He said "Of her brain? I might object."

Karin said "Yes, that would be ideal, but blood at least."

His mouth twitched "Oh, I can get you blood."

She said "Uncontaminated."

He said "And now I'm personally offended again."

Karin walked over to him and handed him a sample cartridge. "Do me a favor and get me a sample of her blood under the influence. I don't really care how. Be imaginative. Be convincing." 

He said "Kinky."

She said "You, on the other hand, I can get a sample from right now." She palmed another sample container to the side of his throat on unbroken skin.

He said "So since I'm unethical, you get to be unethical?"

She said "I've always been unethical when it comes to my nearest and dearest patients who need me the most. Now I can flaunt it."

He said "As nearest and dearest adjacent, thank you."

She said "You are as near and dear as they come. You're welcome."

He said "Changes in her readings…so you've been watching all along."

She said briskly "I can neither confirm nor deny. Luckily I believe you are good for her or I would have had to do something about that."

He said "And as an also near and dear?"

She said "I believe I have enough information over time to adequately model and monitor baselines and extremes."

He said "I am so glad you are on our side."

She said "You should be. I will allow you to leave if you clear it with me first, but if you stress that knee before it cures I will replace it with something that doesn't match your plating. Something in an unpleasant color. Something with perhaps a concealed speaker in a vital location necessary for function, so if you remove it, you also won't be able to walk. You could get an educated opinion about Vorcha music at unpredictable intervals."

He said "Really kinky, Karin. I'm shocked."

She said "You will be if you test me further. Sit back, let me check the reinforcement curing."

He said "Did you know Turian physiology allows me to look as though I were walking normally while keeping weight off the knee?"

She said "I did. Which is why you were allowed to leave in the first place given your gait."

He sat back and then after a moment's thought he said "While we're being unethical…is there any way you could patch her readings into my Omni Tool? I am in a position to act in ways you can't, with sufficient guilt in the form of a possibly discolored and loud knee to use as leverage."

She said "That could be arranged. If you burn me on this, even the Primarch will not save you."

He said "No burning. Just a nice, warm sense of accomplishment."

She said "Excellent."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

By the time Garrus had finished re-customizing his visor interface to track Morim's sleep, stress, dehydration, nutrition and electrolyte levels after Karin had explained their significance, he was smug as hell. Again. MSL, MST, MD, MN and ME levels were unobtrusive in the overlay and color coded to correspond to ranges. No need for him to be as discreet as Karin had been. He would be able to help Morim when she didn't know she needed help. He would be able to stress less about her state of mind when he couldn't see her, couldn't smell her, didn't know how she was due to distance.

He imagined she'd be very good about sleep and food for a while, but old habits die hard and he would be there to help her develop new ones. Hopefully without the loss of another joint, though he'd be fine with it. Maybe get one done in red like Shepard colors.

Yes, he had some control issues, as humans would put it. As a Turian the only issue he had was that he needed more control. He couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for any of it. Since he wasn’t human, he couldn’t be responsible for their concerns.

He imagined briefly being in command…he would like, just once, to say “Shepard, get your ass behind fucking cover before I nail it there.” That would be nice. Then actually nailing her there regardless of outcome would be even better.

He might have had to be nice to her though, if he were in charge, respect her privacy. This was better. So much better.

If he could wear this during sex and get access to that blood chemistry feedback…maybe he'd have gauges directly implanted into his other eye.

He also thought of getting some red dye powder and rubbing it into his throat so it scarred over in a particular color, raised. A human habit, adding pigment. He should make it a Turian tradition. A Clan Shepard tradition. They needed to establish them.

Subtle, Vakarian.

He smiled because he could call himself Shepard and then gave himself a few moments to finish up fantasizing and being smug. He'd won. No doubt he'd won this one. Even the humans seemed to comprehend his marks of battle as points of pride. Between all the jokes and the ribbing, his food-bearing visitors had been gratifyingly supportive and understanding of his relationship with their Commander. Even Javik had smirked appropriately on his way by through the glass, decidedly not bringing food.

He turned his thoughts to the statistics coming from Palaven and engrossed himself in details, eyes flicking to her stats occasionally, reassuring himself when needed. He still wanted to go to her, but it became less about anxiety about her state of mind and body and more about wanting to see her smile when she saw him.

A few hours later Morim dropped by with lunch for him. He drank in her smile and welcomed the food, having learned to refuse food otherwise. She’d stop feeding him if he was always full.

He said “I need to get blood from you while we’re having sex.”

She said “You do that all the time.”

He said “Sample blood.”

She said “Sample for whom?”

He said “Karin asked. Concerned about triple whammy interactions. You might feel a not-sexy-but-I’ll-try-to-keep-it-sexy pinch. Take your meds first.”

She said “Kinky.”

He said “Okay?”

She said “Okay. I’m in. I have no idea what’s going on in my head. If my blood helps…”

He said “Kinky blood.”

She said “Sure.”

Karin stared at him over Morim’s shoulder and he did a passable imitation of a human eyebrow waggle and smirk while Morim was setting up his food. This still qualified as being imaginative and convincing, as the truth wasn't what Karin had expected. It didn't hurt to reinforce that he did have power to influence Morim's behavior and decisions. He didn't need to be underhanded to do it, though he would still…be underhanded. Karin would know he wouldn't betray her confidence, would be honest when possible and could get her samples at will.

Karin got him another sample container and said “You too. May as well have the set if everyone’s being generous.”

Morim said “Karin. I am sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. Anything you need. Anything I need to know about care and feeding of my Turian?”

Garrus chuckled.

Karin said “As with humans, try to get sufficient rest, nutrition and hydration and don’t hit them.”

Garrus said “You can hit me.”

Karin said “I’d also like a blood sample of yours now. I have previous samples, but this would also help isolate what influence Liara is having.”

Morim said “Of course.” As Karin took a sample Morim said “We’re coming up on the Citadel. Anything you need me to pick up for you?”

Karin said “No, I should go to Huerta and arrange for a few things, but I want to go anyway, talk to a few people.”

Morim said “Okay if I take my guy out to dinner or should he stay off the knee?”

Karin said “By tomorrow it should be fine. He doesn’t appear to be in any pain.”

He was in pain. He wasn't going to look like he was and if it became blinding he had medication of his own. He was on medication right now because blinding was a good description. Karin phrased it that way deliberately, likely knew he was in pain and did her best to maintain his confidence and cooperation. 

Any level of overt infirmity, such as the limp he should be having right now, would keep him in this bed and give Morim an excuse to leave him behind for him to convalesce. Unacceptable. He'd keep up the aura he'd developed after being hit with a rocket in the face. Unflappable Turian. His nose was the worst, but it was less visible after the patch. Swelling was all under plates. He didn't look like he was in pain, therefore he wouldn't be in pain. There was a crack in the paint along a fracture line of his nose, but he was keeping that too. He hadn't redone his paint since being on the Normandy, he wouldn't in this lifetime. Each chip and crack and fade was a record of time spent in service to her. If he were ever to repaint, it would be in red.

He wondered if Morim was aware of software that would fake vital signs. Karin would have considered that.

He was going to have to learn these programs so that he could do sweeps for new software on the subject. 

This was a whole new world of fun. Two people lying about health and one person who was going to go back to lying as soon as possible once concern died down. She was being contrite and cooperative, just as he was appearing to be.

It would not last.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Citadel II

Garrus

Morim had let him know that the Citadel was under attack. She'd activated James to accompany them. 

Garrus had said, teasing "No concerns about my health?"

She said "You need to use your knee to shoot?"

He said "No ma'am."

She'd said "Would I get off this ship if I didn't take you?"

He said "Not likely."

She said "Would you admit you were in pain if I asked?"

He said "Also not likely."

She said "So why are you asking?"

He said "I like to hear your voice."

She'd pulled him down by the front of his armor and kissed him, then they'd loaded into the shuttle and seen the devastation by air.

The violation he'd felt at the news that the Citadel was under attack by Cerberus was not business as usual. Every patch of ground he'd valued had been violated now. The Citadel had been attacked by Sovereign, The Normandy had been raided by the Collectors, Palaven was being assaulted by Reapers and now the Citadel was under attack, again, by Cerberus.

All four of those opponents had once been considered separate entities, and they were now one opponent. Cerberus had been insidious, and that had benefitted them when they were a part of it. Now it was endorsing flat out assault at the heart of the Citadel, cards finally on the table. No more lies about the good of humanity. No more pretense.

Civilians dead, vital infrastructure for refugees shattered. Everything he'd done particularly to keep Turian refugees safe, to billet and provide for troops and wounded was at risk if not gone.

He found it easier to be angry at Cerberus than the Reapers. These were people he knew, people he'd worked with. His helplessness transmuted into fury each step of the way. Thane had said "Cerberus troops are everywhere and they are in control of the docks"

It was inexcusably stupid that Cerberus had not dummied the Normandy into a berth, business as usual, and locked them down. They would have been confined. They should have been confined. Perhaps Morim was right about indoctrination forcing a lack of subtlety and strategy. They owed their lives to that oversight.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After the grueling day was over, after he’d begun to process what had happened and what was left to do, he went looking for her. He’d done what he could to string communication together on the Citadel. She had her own meetings and consequences to deal out. Karin had been right. Morim was a certain way in battle. Heart rate elevated but at a rate that wasn’t dangerous. Not erratic. Stress levels continuous and pressured, but steady. Not dangerous to health or function. She must have gotten something to eat and drink along the way. His body was screaming from the pain, exhaustion making it rebound through him. He’d had to take medication to mute it somewhat. The elevator had been the worst, acceleration making it unpredictable how to protect his knee, and standing on one foot only and hovering the other one, made possible by Turian hips and strength, became impossible by acceleration and nemesises. Nemesi? Nem… He paused and looked it up. Nemeses. 

Fucking Nemeses, he hated them. Every one they’d encountered was dead.

Karin had released him from care and assured the knee was in good shape, but he had been very careful. He did not want to hear Vorcha music.

Now Morim’s stress was climbing, something Karin also said was part of her pattern. Action was a release for her. Thought was more difficult, she used it to process and the things she had to process were not easy things. Impossible things. Her method was less digesting or swallowing and more looking, analyzing. Less about feeling good about it and more about understanding it. A never ending pattern. There were times when he felt he could smell the smoke escaping from her ears.

Her stress was still relatively muted after a day like today. Hopefully Liara’s measures were showing their worth. The most obvious places for her to be were the Battery or their Cabin or the CIC. She was in none of those places and he didn’t want to ask EDI. EDI was crew now, not a voice through an intercom. She’d know, but Garrus wasn’t going to ask. He’d ping Morim first on her Omni Tool. But not yet. He tried to think like Morim. He paused and shifted gears…and then he knew. The Med Bay. Karin was on the Citadel helping reorganize Huerta and aid Thane. The Med Bay was empty and nobody would look for her there. Even if she went to their cabin, it was likely Diana would try to get an interview. This way…it was enough out of character that everybody else would leave her alone, except for him.

At first he thought he was wrong when he got there, the lights were off, but he still trusted his hunch. The blinds were drawn. A soft “Hey” greeted him and he followed the sound and her scent to the floor between two beds. She was leaning on the bed where he’d recently resided.

He sat down next to her, elbows touching. She said “Thane’s in surgery, I wasn’t allowed to stay. They will alert me when he’s…I just thought…I found Kolyat and he’s okay, he’s there. He can give blood…and I’m useless.”

He trilled a consoling note, knowing not to tease her about uselessness. Not now. He pulled her sideways in his lap until she was leaning her neck against his arm, braced on his uninjured knee, his other hand was around her waist. She tilted her head back against his arm and said “Oh, Thane, I am so sorry.” She looked at Garrus’s face, solemn and still, and said “It’s my fault. It would have happened differently…if…” She sighed and tilted her head back again. “I can’t even really explain how I know…”

Garrus said carefully "Tell me what you know and I can tell you what I know."

Her head lifted up and her eyes were sharp and wary. He could see lightning calculation happening. She knew or she wouldn't have to count that high or that hard. His eyes gave her nothing except that she would have to give.

She said quietly "He hid it. I know he hid it, and I know he hid it on purpose. Actions, though…those weren't hidden. I respect that he hid it, but…"

He said quietly "Siha."

She said "Siha." She sighed and tears crested from her eyes. "On the battlefield is where it wasn't hidden. You were always behind me, always on a target I gave you or one that was targeting me. He…he was always between me and someone else. Never failed that when I had a moment to check, he was between me and a target. Even or especially when it would have been better for his own health for him to be behind a target instead. He would stand in front of a flamethrower and he wouldn't get burned, which is why I never called him on it. He was never between you and someone else. That's what…that's why…I am going to kill Kai Leng with extreme prejudice but …I am so angry at Thane. Four of us in that room armed. I took a moment to get the Salarian Councilor to safety and when I tried to…"

Garrus said "When you tried to target Kai Leng, Thane was in your way."

Morim said "He was in the fucking way. A lethal assassin. Someone who was never heard, never seen until someone else was dead. And he…he…he ran at him with a gun. Continued to move too fast to allow us to acquire the target. Ran. At. Him. With. A. Gun. Keeping me directly behind him. I could kill him myself."

Garrus said "And you won't because…?"

Morim said "Because that's the death he chose. This quiet, contemplative man with the closed labyrinthine mind chose to go out like a peacock, all dance and flashing tail."

Garrus said "For you."

Morim said "And I left him there, bleeding, run through. Kalahira, if he weren't already about to die I would bring your son to your shores prematurely. He will be with you soon. Kalahira, I suspect you are a bitch. Amonkira. Grant me my revenge and I will ask for no forgiveness. I am not Drell. I am united, body, mind and soul, in this purpose."

Garrus said "It is a good death. One I could ask for myself, in your service."

Morim said "I am beyond sick of good deaths."

Garrus said "We are but men, Venri. You are his Siha and you curse the Gods while he tries to serve them, serve you. It is his nature."

Morim said "Did you know?"

Garrus said "Yes. I had suspected since the red sand. He confirmed it recently. I always saw him on the battlefield as you described. I also know he allowed us in our clumsy way to make our path to each other while he cleared the way and did not put foot on that path himself. For you. He asked me not to tell you, but you already know. He even traveled to Earth while you were there and would have been of as much assistance as he could be in your service. Ostensibly for his health, but there are so many other desert locations he could have chosen. Once again the important factor, the justification for his actions, was you. He promised retribution if I failed you. He also granted his blessing and kinship. If you hadn't known, he would have told you if you tracked him down in the afterlife and asked him."

Morim shook her head and swore softly "I know he doesn’t want me to know and I will honor that. I will grant him his…good… peacock…death. Then when I find him and he’s already dead, I'll kill him again."

He said "I told him you would find him. We should go together. I wished for him that Irikah would be there waiting."

Morim said "Kolyat…I'd like to say I don't know how to do this, how to survive this, but I do. I'm going to kill a lot of people in my grief and it is going to feel good."

Garrus "There we are agreed."

She said quietly "How far away were you from shooting Kaidan?"

Garrus said "He pulled a gun on you, Morim."

She said "How far?"

Garrus said "If you hadn't signaled he'd be dead."

She said "That boy…I don't know what to do with Kaidan. Udina made him a Spectre to gain himself a loyal dog. Kaidan doesn't understand fully that Udina would have handed him over to be a loyal, indoctrinated dog."

Garrus said "If you'd been slightly more ruthless, Kaidan would have been your loyal dog."

She said "If I'd been slightly more ruthless I'd have shot him myself. He's going to be on the ship now. His concerns about integrity make me nauseated. He says he'll never doubt me again. He'd doubt me if he saw on the news that I kicked a puppy. He’d demand that I present the puppy and proof that the boot mark didn't match my feet. If he were free in the world, that's what he would do, draw attention to presented morality, seek evidence."

Garrus said "So why is he on the ship at all?"

She said "I need him to see me in a puppy-free environment where he can see my boots at all times. Can you imagine him out in the world, Spectre status? He'd be in my way or dead. Oh, shit. Thane is going to die and now I have to babysit Kaidan. The loss is impossible and the gain is just as impossible. The sense of trade is unbearable. There's an old Earth saying. I'd rather have Kaidan inside my tent pissing out than outside my tent pissing in. The damage that man can do fixated on "the right thing" is…I will wrap my head around it, but right now I want to kill them both. If Thane survives I will lie to him on his death bed, as he will lie to me. I will start over with Kaidan and try not to get him killed or kill him myself."

Garrus said “It has been a very long day. We’re both alive. Why don’t we just see if Thane and Kaidan will agree to fight to the death?”

Morim said “My money’s on Thane, even with the blood loss and the terminal illness and the hole in his chest.”

Garrus pressed his mouth to her temple and said “Mine too. Thane has made his choice. We will honor it. Kaidan has been beaten up so many times under your command that it’s possible he’ll just die tomorrow and spare you the trouble.”

Morim laughed and said “You do know how to look on the bright side.”

Garrus said “We could let Javik beat him up in Bloodbath.”

Morim leaned her head back “I am there for that.”

Garrus said “We saved the Citadel. Again. Let the rest do what it’s going to do. Mordin died for the Krogan. Thane was going to die, now his death has more meaning than slowing being unable to breathe. Kaidan will follow you. He is loyal. You will turn him into something special by your example. Or tell me and I punch him and shoot him for all the times he’s deserved it. You may be sick of good deaths, but you inspire people and you’re going to have to live with letting people make their lives and deaths mean what they want them to mean.”

Morim said “Oh…I wanted a varren, not a Kaidan.”

Garrus said “It’s okay. We’ll get him trained. Point Kaidan at the Reapers and he’ll do enough damage to make you proud.”

Morim said “What if he’s indoctrinated already? Udina could have…”

Garrus said “Then we shoot him. We’re good at that.”

Morim sighed and shifted, moving to rest her head against his chest, his hand cradling her head, massaging her scalp, pulling her closer. He sat with her, measuring time through breaths, trying to be the solid comforting presence she needed.

When the notification came in that Thane was out of surgery, he went with her to Huerta.

He waited outside while she went in to speak to Thane. He’d had his moments with Thane. He’d made his promises and given his assurances. They had all had enough time to come to terms with his death. Wasn’t it better this way? To say goodbye in person, not to have him gasping for air while she was gone? Spending the last moments he had alive with the woman he loved? She would let him know if his presence was needed.

Knowing Thane’s restraint, knowing how little life he had left, he found himself almost rooting for them in that odd, kinship way of knowing Thane loved her. Garrus had been only person in this scenario allowed all the truths, able to speak freely.

When she walked out he opened his arms to her and she leaned against him and said quietly “He’s gone.”

His arms tightened and a stab of grief passed through him. A good death, he’d said. The reality of Thane’s suffering before today struck him. He’d died slowly, for years, grieving a wife, a son, a soul. He’d hungered for a woman he could not taste. This woman. Garrus’s grief overwhelmed him and his arms tightened around her, holding her while she cried. His arms and legs trembled, the pain in his body and the cumulative shocks of the day joining her in silent expression of loss. I promise you, Thane, I will not fail her. Please, Spirits, guide me.

Turian grief was a private thing. He’d grieved silently in the past. He’d grieved for her. He’d grieved for his family. This was different. Thane was an equal if not superior in tactics and ability. He’d never met Thane at his peak performance. Those who had didn’t lived to tell of it. Garrus longed for justice, but the horrific injustice of a child taken from parents and trained to be an assassin tore strips from him. The horror that Thane had overcome, or failed to overcome, losing his wife in the process… 

He wanted to howl, but he kept the sound in his chest, he would not let it escape, not here. 

Thane had never been rescued. Thane had not required Morim to drag him from a pit of his own making. Garrus was unbelievably lucky to have this woman in his arms, to have been rescued by her so often, to have the right to rescue her in return. 

I promise I will not fail you.

He swallowed back his grief, rage and fear with a deliberate breath and a swallow. He didn’t need a readout to know she was tired, hungry, grieving and barely managing to keep it together as he was.

He waited until she’d stopped crying, then moments more. He tipped her chin up with a finger and said “How about you take your husband out for that dinner? Let’s crash here, get a hotel room, stay off the radar? Something must have escaped damage and still be open.”

She nodded gratefully “Yes, please. We did shut it down quickly, didn’t we? Will you check and I’ll let EDI know I won’t be available for…how long?”

Garrus said “A lifetime? Run away with me?”

She said “Oh…what I want most. 24 hours it is.” She listened to Morim inform EDI “Please inform the crew that Thane Krios has died.”

EDI said “I shall, Commander. I will miss him.”

Morim said “I will miss him also. Garrus and I require rest. We will be unavailable for that time period, Omni Tools offline and notifications not checked. We will resume in 24 hours. I will not disable tracking, you would be able to find us, but only you, EDI. Don’t send anybody else, okay?”

EDI said “Acknowledged and understood, Commander. You will not be disturbed.”

Morim said “Thank you, EDI.” 

Garrus said “I’ll work on getting an extension to that 24 hours. Emergency aside, there are still places working. Let’s go, I know where they are.”

When the exited the elevator near food, they were followed shortly after by a reporter. Huerta was off limits, but no doubt their presence had been leaked.

He heard “Commander Shepard, a few questions please?”

Morim stopped, put on her businesslike expression and said “No questions, please, I am unable to make a statement at this time.”

The reporter brought the hovering camera in closer and didn’t take the warning. “Please, Commander Shepard, it is important – “

Garrus interrupted them by grabbing the camera by the front and crushing it between fingers until it fell to the floor, voyeuristic guts spilling out. 

Morim smiled more brightly and said “I believe you’ve heard my husband’s comment. Have a nice day.”

Garrus made an attempt at a smile that wasn’t that hard. That felt good. The reporter kept his mouth shut, which was a wise reading of the circumstances. He would have liked to hit someone right about now. His grief tended to transmute its way to anger quickly and he had a lot of grief to spare.

They made their way quietly to the restaurant. 

He looked at the menu and asked “Okay with you?”

She said “Looks good. A lot of this, I have no idea. Braised gingklefarz.”

He said “That sounds made up.”

She said “It is. I just thought it sounded funny in my head. I’m just going to pick one. The farther from Earth I get, the less I expect Earth food. It’s mostly Asari.”

He said “Do you like Asari food?”

She said “Better than Turian, I bet.”

That wasn’t all that reassuring, but he didn’t want to drag her from place to place until she found something she recognized. He hoped Asari food was good enough. The Turian food looked good enough. At this point they could probably just suck on nutritional rocks, the food was not the main point here. It was just helpful to behave for a few moments as though they could afford to look like normal people, you know, a bonded Turian and human, having a meal they couldn’t share.

She ordered the filet of some sort of Asari animal and a vegetable, he had no idea. He ordered a Turian fish dish, one he hadn’t had since he was here working for C-Sec. The Citadel had its own food culture and you couldn’t find a lot of it off world. Everything here was farmed here and that created a distinct flavor. Some places tried to stay authentic and pretend they had imported enough Palaven soil to grow things, but over years that tradition had faded. It was a sign of a person accustomed to the Citadel with enough experience that they didn’t insist on authenticity any longer, because it was mostly a lie, things being grown in hydroponics complexes.

He’d been on a ship so long that food anywhere that didn’t come directly from a pouch was a luxury and he and Morim were not going to complain. He asked “How was he? What did he say?”

She closed her eyes and said “He prayed for me. ‘Prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken.’”

Garrus nodded. The words he’d first spoken in her presence would be like the last. 

She said “Kolyat was there.”

Garrus nodded again. He said “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye, but I’m glad you did.”

She said with quiet intensity “I am not a Siha.”

He tilted his head “You were to him. You are my Bakan. You’re a pro at accepting insults, why are compliments so hard?”

She chewed for a moment, giving herself time to think, and he went back to eating, wondering if she’d address the question or let it slide. He continued to eat, waiting.

She said “Perhaps more clearly stated…I don’t want to be a Siha.”

He said “That’s more honest at least. That is partly why he didn’t want to tell you.”

She said “What is partly why?”

He said “This thing you do where you refuse to acknowledge you are larger than life. We know life, Morim. We know relative sizes.”

She said “We who?”

He said “Me. Thane. Kaidan. Liara. Those are the most obvious, but there are more.”

She said “You want me to sleep with all of them?”

He laughed “No. I won. Possibly not fair, possibly not square, but I won. That doesn’t mean I can’t sympathize with those who lost. And they did lose, Morim. You can’t take it from them by pretending they didn’t see you as you were. This isn’t a win-win scenario. That is why what Thane knew about you made him unique.”

She said “What did he know? What do you know that he knew? Maybe I made a mistake.”

He laughed again “Yeah, maybe you did. This is about Thane. The actual man. Yes, he hid it from you, but I can tell you, I should tell you. He knew that you’d try to minimize how he felt because you couldn’t give it to him. That you’d want to give it to him on the basis of the strength of how much he was willing to give you in return. Everything.”

She said “I already had everything…”

He said “And he knew it. That is why I am still alive. You think I don’t appreciate that?”

She said “Thane threatened you?”

He said “No, he didn’t threaten me. I just came to eventually learn that if I weren’t good enough and you persisted in the mistake of being involved with me, he would have killed me to get to you.”

She said “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

He said “No. Take it from the men who guarded your life with their own and would have given it…did give it…”

She said “How did I ever sleep on that ship, I wonder?”

He said “You didn’t. You had nightmares.”

She said “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry if I’m minimizing.”

He said “There’s a Turian custom, giving voice to the thoughts of the dead. Do humans do that?”

She said “No. I imagine Drell don’t need to, remembering every word.”

He said “He loved you, Venri. I am certain he loved you until his bones shook with it.”

She said “You speak for Thane?”

He said “Someone should.”

She said “Do you propose to fuck for Thane too?” He whistled low and looked at her and she said “Oh come on, that was a joke.” 

He said “Yes, that might be a problem, that joke.”

She said “Oh, forget I said it. I’m just trying to keep up with a bizarre conversation.”

He said “You don’t know Turian customs at all.”

She said “So teach me.”

He looked at her, thoughts swirling and possibilities…the possibilities of speaking for the dead. Not only was he insulted, he was insulted on Thane’s behalf. 

She said “I don’t like that look.”

He said “I don’t like having to give that look. Are you done?”

She said “I’m not sure I feel safe leaving the restaurant without an escort.”

He said “How much about today has been about safe?”

She laughed and said “I thought maybe dinner…”

He said “Then you’re as safe as you can be in my presence, Siha.”

She closed he eyes and said “That’s….really weird, can I take back anything that I said and start over?”

He said “You could try.”

She said “I’m assuming you’re going to let me out of the restaurant before you yell at me?”

He nodded “That would be ideal. No yelling, I promise.”

She said “All right. It’s been a weird day, let’s go have a weird night.”

He escorted her out with his hand at her back and said “I can benefit from your willingness to walk right into things, it’s charming.”

She said “Oh, fine. I deserve whatever, I’m sure. Explain it to me, I’ll listen.”

They walked with his guidance toward the hotel, it wasn’t far. She didn’t try to converse. She wasn’t angry, either, just dispirited, tired, grieving. Of course it was going to lead to sex for him. Stress. This is how Turians deal with stress. Speaking for the Dead was an excuse but it fit and it burned.

His hand remained on her back as they walked. Two human men were walking toward them. Morim was oblivious and silent, her face clear that she had turned in, she wasn’t watching, depending on his arm to guide her. His eyes followed the men as they both looked at her and ignored him. When they were out of sound range for a human, but not a Turian, one of them said “I’d like to fuck her until she screamed.”

He swiveled his head to see them, and one of them was laughing, different voice, so he knew which one had said it. Didn’t care, but information anyway.

He left her and sped toward them, grabbed each one by the throat and slammed them up against the ceiling-high advertisement displays until he saw cracks in the polymer. Now that he had them here he had no idea what he wanted to do other than kill them. He had them both by the throat, outside fingers wrapped around necks and one finger with an extended claw drawing blood in the center of the throat to restrain them from struggling.

He let out the sound he’d been holding tight in his chest since Huerta, grief and fury.

They were terrified and he didn’t think they knew why he’d done it, but they dissolved into apologies and fear, begging to be released.

He calmly listened, then looked at one until his eyes dropped, then looked at the other. He said quietly “That is my wife. Your hopes of fucking her are offensive. Turians can hear you. Keep your future wishes to yourself.”

He dropped them to the ground and they ran away.

That felt really good.

He walked back over to her. She hadn’t done anything other than turn around to watch.

She said “Assholes?”

He said “Assholes.”

She said “Feel better?”

He said “Yes.”

She said “Good.” She leaned up and kissed him on his mandible, leaning in just a little until it flexed slightly from the pressure. Spirits, she felt good. She smelled good. He said “If you don’t stop, you’ll be the next one up against that wall. I will draw reporters.”

She smiled but pulled back and said “All right, lead on.”

He said “So far maybe going back to the Normandy would have been better.”

She said “But not as entertaining.”

They got there and checked in, thinking that after their day, they’d be lucky to get out of here without more assault in the morning. Maybe C-Sec would try to arrest him. Maybe more reporters. That last was the most likely. The part of him ready for a fight would be fine shooting his way out of here in the morning, as long as he didn’t have to walk any further right now before he could put his hands on her body. Too many things pulling on his thoughts. Grief. He wanted to illustrate something about grief. He didn’t doubt she understood grief.

He couldn’t get it straight in his head and his body was screaming with pain and need and grief. Maybe just the order of things.

Given time he could work through everything he was thinking, but for now…

He walked to her and deliberately did not touch her, but brought his mouth to her ear as he stood behind her, and said “Does my voice sound different to you, between now and before? Did it change after I bonded to you or is it the same?”

Her heart sped up and he smiled. He thought he knew the answer. She tried to back up to lean against him but he wouldn’t let her and she stood still, hands clenched at her sides.

She said “You…you sound the same. I’ve always…always loved your voice.”

He said “So it couldn’t get any better for you, could it, even with bonding?”

She said “No. It couldn’t get any better.”

He said “I wonder sometimes, Thane made me think, he’d said something about him meeting you first. What do you think would have happened?”

She said “I have…I hadn’t thought…Garrus, this is a little weird, don’t you think?”

He said “It’s a lot weird. I still claim the right to speak for the dead. For a brother. What do you think would have happened?”

She said “Meet me when?”

He said “Let’s put him in place of me.”

She said “I really don’t like that idea.”

He said “Humor me.”

She said “He would have been an excellent crew member and he would have been conscious at all times. I’d owe him my life.”

He said “That wouldn’t make him unique.”

She said “No, it wouldn’t.”

He said “He’d be an assassin with no personal responsibility for his targets. He’d have abandoned his wife and his son. He’d be ill.”

She said “Yes, all those things.”

He said “What if he lied, Siha? What if he didn’t tell you about any of those vulnerabilities? What if he were strong for you, there for you, lied to you to get to you? He’d have had to lie. Would you have seen it?”

She swallowed and said “I don’t…I really don’t know. Without you there, if he’d lied, if I didn’t catch it…”

He said “You would have. I know you would have. The more I think…the more I know. He’d never be loved by the woman in front of me. But with how much he genuinely loved you…would you have let him believe you loved him back? Slept with him that last night before the Collectors? If he’d saved your life, if you’d never died, if he’d guarded you every moment of every day with his body?”

She said “I don’t…I really don’t know.”

He said “I do. The only way he’d ever have you is if I’d never been there at all, not if he’d met you first. Because you love my voice and the things I say. You’d have let him touch you because he wanted to touch you so much it would hurt and you wouldn’t want him to hurt. But I promise you, I promise him, Bakan, you’d never want to touch him as much as you want to touch me.”

She said “Could we…please…get to the touching part? Insanity is not off the table, Garrus.”

He said “Insanity is standing right behind you, Morim.”

She said “He never…even got to call me that and you have…five names for me.”

He said “No, he never did. I will mourn for him, and I will grieve for what he could never have had, but you are mine.”

She said “Yes.”

He said “I won’t accept even theoretical times or places where someone else gets to touch you. Even from a man I love and would have died for willingly. I speak for him, but I also speak for me. He would have liked to take the clothes off you, but I prefer to be able to do it this way. Take them off. For me. Do it for me, Bakan.”

She was always relieved to be able to act, and she did so with gratifying ease and fire in her eyes. She turned and stepped back from him and slowly and deliberately removed each fastening with respect not for the reverence she held for her own body, but for how she knew he felt. With just his voice, something he’d always had, not relying on bonding chemistry. Something she responded to until she trembled. Her nipples were hard and he could smell arousal. She knew what she could do to him, he kept his cock behind plates, though it strained and reached for her.

He said softly “Lie back on the bed for me.” She gave him a smile, oh…that smile…and did as he’d asked, with a teasing ease that made him press harder at the restraining plates. She’d crossed her ankles lightly and was looking at the ceiling as though he weren’t in the room at all. He was going to wreck her composure.

He lay down next to her and brought his mouth to her ear again, she tilted it his way. His need to stroke at her collarbones, her cheeks, itched at his hands until he clenched them. He said “There’s something Drell can do, something humans can do, that I can’t do. I’ve only seen you try once and I stopped you. Your hands went to your clit after I’d teased you. Touch yourself, Bakan, I want to watch. I want to see. Can you imagine how many times your image has been brought to mind while people masturbate to you? I can’t do it. If I’m without you, I have nothing. I’ll find no pleasure unless it’s with your body, Bakan. But I want you to show me what I can’t have, what you can do.”

He watched her as one of her hands slipped between her legs. He couldn’t see so he said “Wider, Bakan, open your legs, bend your knees, I want to see.” She did that for him and he was, if anything, again tearingly jealous at the idea that pleasure could be gained this selfishly, this reliably.

Her other hand came to pinch at her nipple, palming her breast and pressing. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back.

His breathing was labored and he talked low in her ear, watching her, feeling the twitches and straining muscles of her body through the mattress, but not touching her. Just his voice. That’s all she needed. Even her own imagination would allow her to do this if he weren’t with her. He said “Did you think of me when you left me, Bakan? Did you lie in bed at night and strain with your mind and your fingertips to remember what it was like to be touched?”

She nodded a strained “Yes” and he said “Did you listen to my voice? Recordings of me?”

She shook her head and bit her lip and he was surprised. He said “Really, Bakan? You wouldn’t lie to me right now, would you?”

She shook her head again and said “Couldn’t…listen…to your voice, wouldn’t talk to you. I’d…run…back to you.” He watched her pant and heave, flame kindling in his spine.

He growled in her ear to let her hear how much that pleased him. She answered with an arch to her spine and trembling in her thighs. He leaned close enough that he was almost touching her ear and said “Show some respect, Morim, to the men, the people who ache for you, who may take their own trembling bodies in their hands because they won’t have your hands. You are a Siha, you are a Bakan, you are…that woman…to the people who can’t even walk by you without comment. I wanted to kill those two men because they said they wanted to fuck you until you screamed. They don’t get to think that because you are mine. Only I get to fuck you until you scream. You are mine, you bear my marks, and others can have your pale shadow in their dreams, but only I get to make you come with my voice. They want you, but you want me.”

No Reverie. No touch. No scent. She was undone and it was with just his voice and her need for him. She panted with breathy moans until she tipped over into spasms and waves of rhythmic sound when she came. It was still impossible to imagine how that would feel. She was beyond herself and he gently touched her collarbone and cheekbone while she turned to him.

He stood and listened to her whimper as he left the bed, and slowly took off his own clothes. He walked to the foot of the bed and pulled her to him, lifting her hips with his hands and driving down, fully into her, and she screamed for him, the pain of sudden invasion apparent in the sound. She loved the rending and she pressed her hands down to give her the angle to lift her hips to him more fully, to embrace each thrust he gave to her, her welcome hunger pulling at him.

The pain and the grief and the lust and the love lost their edges and blended together in Reverie, in union with this strange woman who faced the light and acknowledged no shadow. He lifted her from the bed and had her body against his while her arms came around him, able to touch him finally. She bit at her own lip and then bit as his tongue until he tasted them together, his arms coming around her more tightly and her hand coming around to press at his fringe and touch the lines of her Kinril. 

They’d survived another day, more horrors, together, and his body finally accepted that they were still alive, still together, still one, and that she knew no threat would reach her while he drew breath.


	22. Chapter 22

Timeline: Citadel: Shore Leave

Shepard

Well, if she'd ever wanted to know if she could take down people in a leather dress with a pistol, she had that question answered. Not that it was easy. This was a lot more sneaking and hiding than she liked to do.

Please don't let me die. Please don't let me die. I still haven't had dinner. Her stomach clenched in protest and she sighed. The most embarrassing part was that she didn't even really care for sushi but that wasn't a good thing in a Turian's wife.

Admit I don't like raw fish or die, unburdened of the soul. Let's go with not admitting I don't like sushi and living.

Ah, crap. More bad guys. This is why she loved high heels but she hated high heels. Her calves would look magnificent as she tripped and died.

Garrus's voice crackled over the intercom "Morim, this is why you don't go to dinner without me."

She said "You couldn’t have eaten it anyway. We didn't even make it to the apps."

Garrus said "What have you got to work with there?"

She said "Hunger and high heels."

Garrus said "Oh, Spirits. Please guide your daughter."

She said "And bring me food."

Garrus said "Oh, Spirits. Please deliver."

She cracked up and then said "Okay, this has to stop, I'm giving away my position."

Garrus said "Everybody on the Citadel knows where you are, Morim. I can hear it from here."

She said "Then hurry up."

Garrus said "Good thing I'm not in high heels."

James said "I'd like to see that."

Morim said "Me too. After."

Garrus said "They probably won't fit."

Liara said "We'll have them custom made."

Morim said "Oh hell. Rocket launcher."

Garrus said "Yours or theirs?"

Morim said "If it were mine, I wouldn't be saying hell. I'd be saying ‘WHEE!’”

Garrus said "Stay the hell down, Morim."

She said "That…is not going to work for me. See you soon."

By the time she made it to him and she heard the familiar sound of his rifle, she was giddy with relief and adrenaline. Oh, Spirits, thank you. Nobody needs to know I don't really like sushi now because that was my only chance, wasn't it? The place is ruined.

She was still twitchy and nervous, not knowing where the next shot was going to come from, but Garrus made it to her and pulled her one-armed into a kiss that yanked her heels off the floor, and then she forgot she had feet.

By the time Joker was on his way, Garrus had her behind the most defensible cover, a vehicle in the corner. She tried to look around the side to see what was going on, but he pulled her back bodily and said "Oh, no. Now we wait for backup."

She said "I made it here, Garrus, we can get out of here."

He repeated "Now we wait for backup." He pulled a ration bar from one of his packs, handed it to her and said "Eat."

She struggled, or tried to struggle and it did absolutely no good. A whole lot of noise was happening and she looked up at Garrus who said "Wrex has arrived."

She said "Oh come on, I want to be out there in that."

He looked down at her and said "Absolutely no way in hell. Eat."

She looked at him mutinously and he said "I have thermal reads on everybody in the room, I will handle anybody that comes by, but Wrex is getting a lot of attention. We are going to stay here until you eat something. If you're not done by the time he is done, you get to explain why I'm holding you down."

She glared at him and then took a bite, chewing fast. "I'm not a child."

He said "No, you're not. A child would be more reasonable."

Wrex yelled "Hey! Shepard! What the hell! Are you hiding?"

She was chewing so she only heard Garrus yell "She fainted."

She let out a strangled cough and then said "I haven't fainted, I'm just going to kill my husband."

James' voice sounded from somewhere up and over, as though he'd rappelled down a wall. "Hey Scars, when she beats the shit out of you again, record it this time."

Wrex said "Shepard kicked Turian ass, huh?"

She yelled "And I'm about to do it again."

Garrus yelled "If you gentlemen would clear a path, please, I'm going to carry my fainting wife out of here."

She glared at him while chewing and considered hitting him. He laughed and said "You are in a dress that, though lovely, provides no protection. You are in heels that make it likely you will twist an ankle if you try to run. There is broken glass everywhere. I'm carrying you because I'm faster than you are. I will make a harder target to hit. I will be your armor. If you argue with me, I'll punch you."

She laughed and said "Damn, Vakarian, you are a sexy man. Kiss me."

He smiled but said "No way I'm falling for that."

She sighed and figured she probably had had enough fun, all things considered. At least she wasn't hungry. "All right, let's get this over with. Helpless woman, ready to go." She went boneless, hoping it would make it harder for him to pick her up. No, Turian strength made picking her up about as awkward for him as hoisting a pillow. She threw her arms back dramatically and her tongue came out the side of her mouth, looking appropriately helpless.

He said "Oh, Spirits, the drama."

She said "Shut up and carry me."

He sprinted to the shuttle and she stayed in his arms, playing up the helpless part, but still making sure her dramatics didn't leave her head out as a target or put his balance at risk. When they got there she sat up, waved enthusiastically at Wrex and then dramatically fell back again, eyes crossed.

Wrex hmphed and then said "Good thing you've got her there, Vakarian, she'd try to hug me."

James said "She can hug me."

Garrus said with fake grouch and humor "She can't hug either of you, she's distraught."

She couldn't keep from giggling. "I hate you guys."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Silver Coast Casino: Infiltration

They'd hashed out where they were going to go from here. Wherever here was, she had no idea, but she did know that people were shooting at her. Fortunately she'd escaped without any major wounds, just a few scratches. The worst off were her knees, because kneeling in broken glass and street without protection wasn't fun. The dress was a loss now, because sweat and leather and bits of glass were not friends.

She needed to shower and start over. Garrus was going to get ready to go to the casino but he was still in armor. She remembered one of the first things he'd said to her casually, walking around the Citadel when she'd first recruited him. "If you feel lucky, we should visit the casino over in Flux." What had she thought? "I am so glad he is Turian. I'd be having a problem otherwise." That memory, and the fact that she could recall everything he'd ever said to her made her blush about her stupidity. She should have known. She really should have known right then. So much for her ability to predict events.

She stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist as he was looking in a closet for something to wear. She said "I feel lucky."

He turned and combed her hair back with his fingertips and said "You must be lucky, you're still alive."

She said "One of the first things you said to me in your casual voice…" She deepened her voice and said “If you feel lucky, we should visit the casino over in Flux."

He laughed and said "Was that you trying to do an impression of me?"

She squeezed harder "I am inadequate, I just thought…how little I knew. I should have…"

He said "Well, I was a different person then. You couldn’t just tackle me."

She said "I should have, though."

He said "Yes, you should have. If we ever get a time machine, we're going back. You get to seduce me and I get to seduce you."

She said "I wouldn't put it beyond the realm of possibility, this time machine. We've come across some weird shit. I should make up for it now."

He said "Make up for what?"

She said "Not tackling you."

He said "People are waiting."

She said "They have pizza."

He said "Commander Shepard, I believe that is abuse of your position."

She said "Oh. You said magic words. Abuse and position."

He said "Commander Shepard, I believe you should be told 'no' more often."

She said "I'm told no all the time. You can say it yourself if you'd like. I'll just keep on doing what I'm doing until you stop." She started to take off his armor and he pretended to try to grab it as it fell to the floor.

He said "This is highly inappropriate."

She said "Oh. More magic words. High and inappropriate. What I wouldn’t do for some crates."

He said "I understand humans are different…but…"

She started kissing at the side of his neck and saying "But what?"

He said "But…I…should…not humiliate the Turian…uh…"

She said "That's what I like to hear."

He said "I am so easy."

She said "That's part of what I like about you. Come on. Shower."

He said "I swear it would go just like that."

She said "Only with crates."

He said "With you, I'd have just as easy of a time."

She said "No. I'm a difficult person, you always say."

He said "Some things are straightforward. I wouldn't even need crates, I'd just break into her cabin and slide into bed next to her while she was sleeping."

She said "Oh, cheating."

He said "Well, yeah, but she deserves it, being so sexy…and stupid."

She said "Ever the romantic."

He said "Even if she hit me a few times, we'd both be okay with that in the long run."

She said "Please stop making me jealous of me."

He said "Even if I had to tie her down, I would persist."

She said "Got any rope on you?”

He said “No.”

She said “We go to the shower with the supplies we have, not the supplies we want.”

He laughed, helped her finish removing his armor, and then scooped her up and carried her into the shower.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Identify Theft II

Meanwhile, in an Archive

She'd considered having clones. Of course she had. It had showed up in her nightmares. Being reborn had not come without baggage.

She didn't have all the time she needed to point out the problems in the plan of this clone. Looking like her was one thing, actually acting like her was something else. There was still Hackett and Anderson to get through. If she took off with the Normandy, though, yes, that would be bad.

She said as she climbed up the ladder "Guys, I am nothing without my team. She is nothing without you. Keep it up, let's just kill everybody and go home."

Vega said "Think I could get her to give me a hug?"

Liara said "Not without your pitchfork, it seems."

Garrus said "Pretty sure she'd be into me. She looks like she's into burned out cops past their prime."

Morim said "And you still without rope. You guys really know how to freak me out."

Wrex answered "It's a gift. Hah! You guys are out of practice. You're never catching up to my count."

Kaidan said "Okay, now I know I'm back. Things get this weird, this fast, I'm back."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Morim had arranged for a memorial for Mordin. She’d done some research on Salarian customs. Salarians were not all that sentimental, but there was some music she wanted to use. She practiced it with EDI, a simple round. There were no traditional Salarian colors for mourning, but she chose the rusty coral that had made up much of the color on his face.

In keeping with the brief lifespan of Salarians, she did some more research. She and Mordin were about the same age, but he only would have lived for a few more years, he had been three quarters done with his life, and she was only one fifth done with her life potentially.

Not everyone had known Mordin. She invited everyone who had known him to the small ceremony, but not everyone was on the Citadel and able to attend. Of her crew, only Garrus and Liara had known him. Of her previous crew, hardly anybody was here. Thane was gone. She thought of Legion and wondered where he was, if he was. Karin had worked closely with Mordin. 

Mordin hadn’t had time for friends. She and Garrus were probably the people he had been closest with. Due to her taking out only one person with Garrus at a time, he never traveled with the other members of the group until the final mission, and then she’d sent him back to the ship with the crew to help them recuperate. Other than playing cards or asking questions about waffles, he'd been mostly a solitary figure.

She thought of inviting other Salarians, but Mordin calling Kirrahe a 'cloaca' made her dismiss that idea. She didn't know many Salarians herself, and Mordin had been the best representative of his species. 

Without Mordin they’d have had no countermeasure, the swarms would have done them in. The mission would have been impossible without him. Saving Palaven by saving Tuchanka's future never would have happened.

She still had his locket. She still had his sense of humor and his music and his drive.

She asked Wrex to come speak since he was available. Bakara was still on Tuchanka and travel was still dangerous enough to not risk it. 

She had the service outside, near the central canal, and had permission for her ideas. They gathered around the edge, upstream. She had a gown of his color, which was near to her color, her tattooed markings in the same vein of red. Mordin was definitely Clan Shepard material.

She'd had seashells made of some sort of material that would dissolve in the canal and benefit the system. In the upturned bowl of each was a lit flame that would not burn down until the seashell dissolved in the water.

Fitting, like a sand Mandala. He had spent his brief life being useful, lighting the way, illuminating the dark corners of potential knowledge. Simultaneously ruthless without conscience and benevolent in the way that set an entire species free of domination and despair. He hadn't hesitated to give his life.

She'd cried so often lately that tears didn't come to her, here amid the people, the friends that would understand tears from her. 

She and EDI began the memorial by singing the Salarian round in simple voices, a slight breeze rustling hair and dappling the light from trees casting shadow.

She started by saying "Mordin's life was brief and brilliant. When I'd asked him about potential retirement, he said…" She altered her voice to do her best Mordin impression and say "Might go somewhere sunny. Sit on beach, look at ocean, collect seashells."

There was a ripple of soft laughter and that made her smile. She said "He has allowed future generations to see their suns shine, sit on beaches, look at oceans. I miss him. It is always an education to not be the smartest person in the room."

Garrus smiled and said "Then you must be educated all the time."

She nodded. "It's true. I am. I couldn't do enough to deserve this crew, these people in my life. Thank you for coming to honor him." She put the shell adrift in the water.

Bakara had a recorded message that EDI played "To those here to honor Mordin Solus's life, and death, may I say he was my friend. I would not be here on my home planet, hope finally allowing life to return, without him. He has given us hope and a future, and we will fight with you. We will fight for him. My time on the Normandy was brief, and so was his life. I will make the most of it, and I thank you for what you have done, and what you will do. In his name, all blessings of the ancestors upon him."

Wrex carried a shell to the water for Bakara and set it adrift. Then he turned and said "He was a tiny little Salarian squeak that I wanted to kill almost every time I met him. That's not unusual. I usually want to kill most people I meet. The way he talked made my head hurt. But…I will say this for that little man…he made me not want to kill him, and that never happens. I usually want to kill you Shepard."

There was laughter and Morim put her hands up as though she entirely understood. Wrex continued "I believed in him. And I was right. Even if he shouldn't take samples that way. You little Salarian jump up weed…you did it. I remember. Tuchanka remembers." He set another shell in the water.

Jack came forward awkwardly and took a seashell like it would bite her and said "I…uh…I didn't know Mordin all that well. But…he knew me. Or I should say he helped me. He noticed once, just once, that I had a tremor in my right hand. He said he saw it from the way I carried a tray in the mess. I told him to fuck off, but he ignored me and dragged me back to the lab. I didn’t kill him and I’m more like Wrex. If anybody else had grabbed my hand and started pulling they’d be bleeding out fast. But he said the tremor was from my implant. I didn't want anybody in my head, but…I believed him. It took him about ten minutes to reprogram shit I don't understand. He said he was done and he went back to work on some sort of other crap, I have no idea. I just stood there, like an idiot until he noticed me a few minutes later and said 'You can leave now. I have work to do.' And I did. I still have no idea what the fuck…but my hand is steady and for some reason…food tastes better and…anyway. Freaky little dude. I will never understand, but thank you." She shrugged and set the shell in the water, following the trail of lights.

The stories continued until the last shell remained. EDI took it up and then she EDI modulated her voice to a bass and sang the part of the Pirate King from Pirates of Penzance, then amplified the orchestra and backup singers. Morim stuck to a steady alto line for the accompaniment. 

“Although our dark career sometimes involves the crime of stealing  
We rather think that we’re not altogether void of feeling.

Although we live by strife, we’re always sorry to begin it.  
For what we ask, is life without a touch of poetry in it.

Hail poetry!  
Thou heav'n-born maid!  
Thou gildest e’en the pirate’s trade.  
Hail flowing font of sentiment  
All hail  
All hail  
Divine emollient.”

Morim listened, that's what she'd asked her to sing. EDI was not done.

"Because, with all our faults, we love our Queen.  
Yes, yes. With all our faults, we love our Queen.  
Yes, yes. With all our faults we love our Queen."

Morim started to cry with EDI's song and she said "No Englishman unmoved that statement hears."

EDI stepped forward and gave Morim a hug, and then EDI took a shell and set it adrift.

Everyone was welcome back at the apartment for a reception, but she lingered for a little while, they could let themselves in for now. She hiked up her skirt and sat with her feet in the water, watching the lights travel down the water until they were gone, dissolved or out of sight.

Garrus came and sat down beside her. When she pulled her feet from the water he took them in his hands and warmed them, his fingers digging into the arches and muscles until she groaned in pleasure and laid back on the edge of the canal, leaves filtering patches of kaleidoscopic green light.

Present peace was a real thing. Future peace seemed a possibility.

Go in peace, my friend.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in an open field

Javik: Please do not touch me.

Shepard: C’mon, man, it’s just a hug.

Javik: Please do not tell anyone that I allowed you to touch me without killing you.

Shepard: All right, no hugs. How about a thumbs up, would that be okay?

Javik: Does it involve touching?

Shepard: No.

Javik: Then yes, do that.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Omega

Shepard

Aria had made her an offer. Morim might have jumped at this deal when she was with Cerberus, but she wasn’t with Cerberus any longer. It felt like carrot and stick. Take Omega back, get support. Did she need it that badly? Yes. Did she trust Aria? Absolutely not. Aria would sacrifice her without qualm, possibly with relish. She liked Aria a lot, but that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. This was close to a 50/50 split on risk versus benefit. Throw in that she’d have to do it alone…

There were other factors to consider, particularly because she promised not to lie about life or death. 

She was pretty sure how this was going to go in general, but not the specifics. 

She could make the call that before she finished talking to Garrus about it, she wouldn’t be going. She was relieved at that thought. It wasn’t as necessary to be insane as it used to be. The game was bigger, and smaller fish could swim away. It was a medium sized fish, not on the level of the Krogan army, and if she didn’t get Omega on her side, odds were that Omega would fight back on its own.

She was okay with not going. 

Time to let him know.

He’d moved an extra weapons table into their apartment because…well, because it was him. He could have all the things he loved close.

She looped her arms around him as he was bent over some guts of a gun. Might be his, might be hers. He’d said if her aim was so bad, he might as well make sure he couldn’t blame the gun. She’d let him do it because hey, free maintenance. If she could get out of taking care of her guns he could say whatever he wanted. She’d let him win at target practice on the top of the Presidium and his gloating was so adorable she couldn’t be sorry for using biotics more often than her rifle so he could keep ahead. He was hard to keep up with anyway. She did compete, but sometimes she just slightly botched it and only made him sweat about the score once a month. Enough to keep him interested, on his sniper toes. It was a positional thing. She could in fact pick off targets since she was accustomed to being up in the front anyway. Situational circumstances meant she could alter her shooting stats like playing Skyllian 5 to let someone else at the table win. She was never, ever going to tell him. Even if he suspected, he clearly liked it this way. He was never, ever going to force her to say she was possibly as good as he was.

She said “Aria has a deal for me.”

He didn’t stop cleaning. He said “Does it involve auctioning off dancers?”

She said “No. She’s here because Cerberus took over Omega.”

He put the pieces of his gun down, wiped his hands on a rag, stood up and put his hands around her waist. He looked at her for a moment and said “Okay, when do we go?”

She said “Yeah, there’s a catch. She wants me to go alone. With her help.”

He leaned in and pressed his mouth plates to her throat. “And you told her no.”

She said “I didn’t, actually, I wanted to talk to you about it first, because if I go…”

He said “You’re not going. You want Omega, we’ll get Omega. We can have a contingent of Krogan intended for Palaven wipe the place out in two days.”

She said “Aria promised fleets.”

He pulled back and looked in her eyes, and said distinctly “Fuck. Aria. She lost Omega, she needs you to get it back. Anything she could get for you, you could get on your own. With me. Or a lot of Krogan. We wouldn’t even have to be there.”

She said “Well…yeah.”

He said “You’d already decided not to go.”

She said “How the hell could you know that?”

He said “Because you don’t know yourself in a fight, but I do.”

She narrowed her eyes “There’s more to it than that.”

He said “Heh. Yeah…well…you smell different when you’re in for the long haul. This was at best a short haul. A nonexistent haul kind of deal.”

She laughed “You know the irony of being a person who is famous for reading other individuals, who is married to someone she can’t read, but can…smell her intentions. I don’t always like it.”

He said “So you thought you’d just hand this one to me, bolster my ego? Let me talk you out of something?”

She said “Well, I can hear your voice in my head, disapproving at a distance.”

He said “I’m very sorry that I consider you to be sane now.”

She gasped “You take that back!”

He laughed “Okay, so this is one of those first date, role playing, hands-on-her things you discussed before.”

She said “No…that wasn’t…shit, I have no idea what I intended. Maybe the boost your ego thing. As if your ego needed boosting.”

He said “I think you just want me to touch you.”

She said “Do I smell like that too?”

He said “All the time. It’s really hard to not to be smug.”

She said “I don’t think you’re managing that as well as you think you are. So what’s stopping you?”

He kissed her and said “You don’t need a reason for sex. I wouldn’t seduce you into doing things my way. I’d be forearmed. I could just threaten you. ‘Go to Omega alone and I’ll detonate the entire station.’ ‘Go to Omega and I’ll kill your hamster.’”

She scoffed “You’d never kill my hamster.”

He said “But you know I’d blow Omega away entirely?”

She said “Hell yeah, that’s a reasonable assumption, considering your history with the place.”

He said “Good. Then we understand each other. You know not to do ridiculous things, and you know if you do them, I now have the resources to retaliate. Things as they stand are much better than they have been in the past, at least for me. I’m far from helpless. Hell, upset me and I could turn Palaven against you. Not humans, just you. I can make you pay in ways I couldn’t before. It’s gone to my head.”

She said “I like your ideas anyway, let’s do that Krogan thing. Promise the Krogan the use of all ships on Omega. Then take that fleet back to Palaven. We can give the station to Aria anyway, because who wants Omega, and without her I never would have gotten to you on time. She gets Omega, we get the fleet, the Krogan get to clean house, Aria gets to repopulate with her own people…win-win-win-win.”

He said “It’s done. See how easy that is?”

She said “You know, we might actually win this damned war. We are sharp individuals.”

He said “We’re not individuals any longer, Bakan." He unzipped the front of her jacket and shrugged it off her shoulders.

She said “I didn’t know you could work those things. Your fine motor skills are impressive today.”

He said “Ever a smart ass.” He slipped her shirt off over her head and then opened her bra blind in moments.

She said “Now that I know you can do that, clothing bills are going down.”

He said “It’s merely proof of concept. Not a prototype. You can afford it. I shouldn’t have to stop having fun.” They removed the rest of their clothes quickly and he turned her around, ran his hands over her back. He pressed his mouth to the back of her neck and then dragged his face along her shoulders, smooth side of mandible, rough side of scar, she could imagine red lines appearing on her back, then disappearing. His mouth then settled on the side of her throat, his tongue gliding along the curves of her neck. He brought his hands around her body to cup her breasts, his arms long enough to cross themselves and press her back against his chest. He growled against her throat. She brought back both hands and felt at his shoulder, then dragged her knuckles over scent patches. She looked at her hands for a moment, then pressed her fists into the sides of her neck and spread the scent there.

He purred softly against her skin and she felt that languorous sense of home, as though she had a timer in her mind and she came back to him before his scent could wear off.

She asked softly “I don’t think I ever smell like myself anymore.”

He said “You smell like mine. When you’re out of a shower you still smell like mine. I’m in your blood now.”

She said “I always want more.”

He said “You can always have more. You are my home.” He kissed at one side of her throat. He said “You are my path.” He kissed along her spine. “You are my purpose.” He kissed at the other side of her throat and tightened his fingers on her breasts.

An idea that had been playing in her mind became more concrete and she turned in his arms and said “I want to try something.”

He said “What do you want to try?”

She drew back her hands and there was a blurry play of biotics on her hands. She said “Biotics are warned not to…play with their fire…but I want to play with my fire.”

He said “Uh…well, that’s new. I…I have no idea what that means.”

She said “So we find out together…I think I can finally get…how to Turians put it? Under your plates?”

He laughed and said “Through your plates. When someone makes you lose your temper.”

She said “Oh, right. For humans it’s under their skin, but I…” She said “I think I can control it, just….let me know if it doesn’t feel right.”

He said “Just…try not to kill me.”

She moved her hands over his chest and said “I’ll try, but I’m really good at killing things.”

He said “There’s a heart in there, try not to stop it.”

She said “Noted. Hold still.” He’d been taking steps back and he took a half step again. She said “Come on, I never told you that you couldn’t stop my heart.”

He laughed, though it was a little nervous and his eyes flicked unconsciously to the nearest exit and then he consciously relaxed and said “All right. When you have to explain it to Dr. Cha –“

His voice cut off as she brought her hands to his chest and activated just a little around her hands. Not much. Not much sound, a slight hum. He started to laugh and looked down at her, shaking his head “Okay, that’s just ticklish.” She smiled at him and deepened the field half again as much, and he held still, tilting his head to the side “Okay, that’s…that’s less ticklish and more…huh.” She watched his face as he shrugged slightly. What she really wanted to do was to get a concentration of energy under his plates, not ticklish. She tried again, expanding the field just a little bit more and he leaned into her hands a little “Oh…that’s…” He sucked in a breath and said “That is…”

She knew what it was. Warm waves of energy that were like massage. She’d learned to do this for herself as a comfort when she was younger. She hadn’t done it in a while. She’d given it up when she’d begin to bunk around other people, because blue waves were impolite and freaky. Something to stop the way a child would stop using a security blanket. Now she ran her hands over his plates and skin, imagining how it might feel, imagining his skin, untouched before now, pulsing. 

She moved her hands, one to the side of his throat and one to his waist and the look on his face as he tilted his head back and groaned was what she had been hoping for in a reaction. She let loose a low and soft laugh and pulled him over to a near couch and sat him down on the edge, climbing behind him and putting her thighs on the outside of his. She ran her hands over his back and sides, listening to him hum and growl. She ran her hands down either side of his spine and he started to breathe harder. She put one hand splayed across the back of his head, fingertips touching each Kinril spacer and he arched his neck back into her hand and groaned again. She knew those sounds. Those were good sounds.

It took some focus, but she could have the fields rise again as soon as they faded, it wasn’t a full body effort, more like breathing. He sounded so good. She closed her eyes and leaned against his back, bringing brought her hands around to trace over his chest, over the lines of plates. With one hand coming back up to the spots under his fringe, she lowered her hand to his groin plates and they opened faster than she’d ever experienced, and he jerked up in alarm.

She said “Did that hurt?”

He said with slight panic in his voice “No, I just…that wasn’t me.”

She laughed and said “Oh…that is good to know. Did that hurt?”

He said “No, but it’s weird, really weird, I just can’t control the muscles – oh Spirits, stop that.”

She stopped and said “Can you control them now?” She moved her hands away and they closed.

She couldn’t resist so she reached her hands, both down again and pressed at either side and flared and he made another vertiginous sound and the plates opened again. This she was going to enjoy.

He was panting and he said “You humaned me. I can’t believe you humaned me.” 

She said “Oh, I like this discovery.”

He said with humor but effort, “Spirits, I don’t know why you abandoned me, but…” He hissed a tight breath again and said “Oh, I don’t care, that is…please…” Her hands moved again when she was sure he wasn’t in pain. She gentled them to warm vibration and then stroked his cock with her hands, blue light along the blue length. He leaned back against her and pressed her back into the couch, angling his fringe back so the ribs were down her back like extra fingers. She shifted up so his head was leaning back against her shoulder. She moved one hand to the front of his throat to feel his groans and purrs and heavy swallowed breath. She used her fingers and palm against his cock while he groaned and turned his head to kiss her throat with the edges of plates and tongue.

She turned to look at him and his eyes went from hazed pleasure to intent and then focus, that hunter’s instinct in his brain making his eyes pure Turian. He surged forward, pulled her with him and had her flat on the hard floor with his vertigo speed that always left her brain dazed, unable to catch up.

He laughed weakly and positioned her with her bent knees to either side of his hips and her hands at his waist, hard invasion pressing her down into the floor with no cushion, deep and gasping. He held her hips and said in a growl “We are doing that until the lights go out.”

He held deep inside her and moved as she moved, blue light casting shadows as her hands roamed from his waist to his chest to his throat, eliciting frenzied and layered sounds from him. He moved her hand to her breast and pressed her palm down while he licked at the other nipple, pressing her hand between them as he dragged himself up over her body, groaning again as the energy passed through him and her hand at his waist flared and pressed him inside as her hips arched up to him.

He’d hold deep inside her, neck muscles straining while she held her hands against a part of him, neck or waist or bands of plate edges, then thrust into her while she moved hands to different places, sweat and trembles overtaking her, and biotic pulses more out of her control. One hard pulse caught him to the side of the neck and he snarled at the feeling, but when she pulled her hand back he snarled at her ear, thrusting in Reverie-exploding waves, and said “Don’t stop until you can’t anymore.” He bit her earlobe for blood and then pressed her mouth into the side of his throat, her hands blue on his back and blood blue on her teeth. His hands came to either side of her throat as he held her head still, elbows on the floor but his knees and hips driving into her, then stopping and holding her while twisting inside. Her hands came to either side of his throat and he kissed her, hard and demanding. His weight pressed the air from her and the sounds he made, the depth of him, his frenzy, carried her far beyond herself until she didn’t remember what biotics were at all and the sound of her name didn’t mean anything.


	23. Chapter 23

Timeline: Priority: Perseus Veil

Shepard

Seeing Tali had lifted her spirits and made her heart beat faster. Like a mother duck counting lethal baby ducklings, the loss of Thane and Mordin had left holes in her heart. Seeing Tali alive filled a hole that had been sinking in worry.

Communication with the Quarian Flotilla had been lost and she and Tali had not been able to talk recently. How much she had been worried came home to her when seeing Tali melted some ice she'd been holding in her chest.

She managed to not disrupt Tali moving on board and settling in, but as soon as she could, invited her up to the cabin and submerged in catching up.

Tali got one of those jumpy, hopping and laughing hugs that Wrex had commented on avoiding. She stood with her hands on Tali's hips for a long time, just looking at her, smiling. She said through a grin "I am so stupid happy to see you."

Tali laughed and hugged her again, and then they moved into the room and took up places on the couch. 

Tali said "You did it. We did it."

Morim said "Admiral Tali'zorah!"

Tali said "Vas Normandy!"

Morim said "Tell me about Kal."

Tali said "He is all right now. He was injured. He will be recuperating with the Flotilla. He…he lost a hand in a fight with the Geth."

Morim said "I'm so sorry, Tali."

Tali said "Thank you. He no longer has the infection, and he is…not the happiest man in the world, injured and me leaving."

Morim said "Happiness right now is rare enough, but I do feel it, seeing you."

Tali said "As do I, my friend."

Morim said "We can always have him transferred here."

Tali laughed "We can't all afford to be that distracted. Garrus is well? He looks well."

Morim said "Garrus is well."

Tali said "As much as I would love to have Kal here, he is safest with the Flotilla, under isolation and care with those who know how to care for our physiology. He is working on the link ups to his new prosthetic. With all the upgrades, I’m a little jealous of the dexterity he will have."

Morim nodded "Yes, of course. Wanting to help doesn't always mean I can help, but if you change your mind…"

Tali said "You will be the first to know, after I've asked Dr. Chakwas all about it."

Timeline: Despoina: Leviathan

Garrus

The idea of Morim going under the water in a battered and probably leaking monstrosity was their only option? That couldn’t be the case. He needed to stall, get more time, think of something else. He said "Hold on a second, are we actually considering this?" He said ‘we’ hopefully, not literally. She was not only considering it, she was acting on it.

Her face was closed and he could tell she was considering all options but she…and he…were coming up empty on alternatives. He said "Listen, Shepard, I'm all for crazy ideas, but this one's off the charts."

She paused, but her professional face did not slip and she said "We've come too far to stop now. The way home is through Leviathan."

He touched her arm and she almost didn't turn to him, that far gone in plans and schemes, unwilling to deal with him as a person. That made it absolutely necessary she deal with him as a person.

As she turned to him, her muscles tense and her eyes barely seeing him, he said "Hey. You promised me the next Atlas. It's my turn."

She tipped her head forward and he saw a smile and her presence return to her eyes. She tilted her forehead to his and said "Oh, but there's a technicality. It's a Triton. Not an Atlas."

He said "That is so cheap. It's beneath you."

She kissed him and said "It's a signature move."

He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. His eyes flicked to the readout of her stats and he was at least assured she wouldn't disappear, no information, no answer. He'd know.

She kissed him and then pulled back, her eyes sliding from beloved to Commander. She turned back to the Triton and said "Let's go."

He helped her into the cab and said "But…Shepard…"

She said "I'll be fine."

It might be true, but he wouldn't be.

She leaped into the waves and he watched as her biometrics flowed across his screen, reassuring himself moment by moment that her heart was still beating.

Tali came forward and put her hand on his shoulder "She'll be back."

He turned to Tali and said "Thank you. I promised her faith once. I find it very hard to keep that promise."

Tali said "If I didn't believe, I wouldn't be here."

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on Tali. She wanted to distract him, he should look distracted for her. "It is good to have you here, Tali. I mean, not good in the sense that if she doesn't come back, we die of starvation and grief between waves of combat. I mean that you and I have been with her since the beginning, and nobody understands as well as you do."

Tali leaned on one leg, her hand on her hip, and he'd learned that was contemplative for her. She said with humor in her voice "It wouldn't be so bad. I’ve always wanted to get you alone."

He laughed and said "I…uh…okay, that's effectively distracting. You what?"

She said "I was always right down that ramp from you in the Normandy and I found myself wanting to walk up it so often."

He said "Why didn't you?"

She tilted her head "You were distracted."

He said "I was indeed. Waiting to see if she'd show up. Just like now."

She said "Yup. I was the wrong she."

He said "No. Not wrong. If I had gotten the hang of this interspecies thing sooner…"

Tali laughed "Well, here we are, alone at last, in a romantic, stormy spot, possibly about to die…"

He smiled "Thinking about other people."

Tali said "Thinking about other people. Kal'Reegar would not forgive me if I allowed myself to die out here after promising not to, so we have to live."

Garrus heard a streak of noise that meant incoming. “Time to earn our keep. We’ve got people waiting on us.”

They scrambled to cover and started taking down the incoming husks. Fortunately they were not all that smart and it was easy.

Tali said “On the bright side, we have lots of ammo.”

Garrus said “Hey, if you and Kal have kids, would you ever think of calling one of them Garrus? It’s a great name.”

Tali laughed and said “It’s better than his family’s names. Some of them are on the Quib-Quib.”

Garrus squinted and aimed, then said “So you’re saying there’s a chance.”

They continued to kill waves of intruders. Morim’s vitals were steady except for a massive rise in stress, which wouldn’t be unexpected. They settled in closer to the shuttle to keep escape access and protect Cortez. It wasn’t a difficult fight, his mind stayed occupied on focusing on targets between alternately allowing himself to panic and then calming himself down because his heart rate needed to be steady for distance shots.

I should have stopped her.

You didn't have an alternative.

She’s still alive.

For how long?

Focus on keeping the deck cleared for her return.

Maybe there’s another Triton. 

Maybe I should just jump in and try to look around.

Her readings don’t look like a fight. She’s still okay.

She’s not okay.

Stress levels are higher than you’ve ever seen and rapidly climbing and her other stats are dropping as though time has sped up and she’s gone through a day’s worth of resources in ten minutes.

Is that all it’s been…ten minutes?

She finally surfaced and fell on the deck, pale and choking, her nose…her ear…bleeding…

He scrambled to her through the Reaper forces fighting each other as though charmed. Did she do this?

He had no more thoughts for himself with a scramble back to the shuttle and an escape from somewhere and something he didn’t understand.

She’d jumped straight into it.

She’s here, she’s okay.

She’s not okay.

He held her in his arms and tried to find her pulse, icy skin against his hands. “Shepard, wake up.” He said in panic to Tali “She’s freezing.”

Take off her armor, leave it on? He had no idea.

Her eyes opened and he said a not poetic thing that happens when people panic. An attempt to make everything all right by getting a simple answer. “You okay?”

She’s not okay.

I know it’s the answer you want but she’s not okay. Her eyes can’t focus and she’s still bleeding from places that don’t happen unless the brain is under stress. Was it from water pressure?

Why did he let her go again?

She coughed and tried to clear her expression for him, though he wasn’t sure she actually saw him. She said “Yeah, yeah. I'm fine.”

He was not reassured and he almost laughed at her. He shook her once.

She said “Hell of a headache” as if that was enough of an explanation.

He was relieved, angry, confused and helpless. He said “Never do that again.”

Normally she’d make some sort of joke, but she wasn’t even up to that. She explained…and he didn’t know what to believe. Hallucinating? No, the charmed opponents backed her up. They were leaving, which confirmed that she’d gotten something done.

He warmed her hands between his and she was leaning on him out of necessity, not comfort.

When she started to throw up his panic ratcheted higher. When she was unable to stop it got worse. She was dry heaving and not trembling, but shaking. 

When the seizure hit her he put the back curve of a talon between her teeth to keep her from biting her tongue.

Tali scrambled to the intercom and said “Commander Shepard is having a seizure. Dr. Chakwas, please meet us in the shuttle bay on arrival.”

He yelled “Liara, get Liara.”

Tali said “Liara, please…she needs help.”

Garrus did his best to keep her from doing harm to herself. He protected her neck and kept her arms from flailing and Tali held her feet still as much as she could. He held his head down to hers, his crest on her forehead, whispering her name over and over. “Morim… Venri… shhh… shhh… come back to me.”

Karin and Liara rushed onto the shuttle and Karin got her a shot of something that stopped the wracking of her body. Javik was close behind them.

Liara knelt beside Morim and touched her temple, then rocked back on her heels and cried out. Javik steadied Liara and put his hand on hers. Javik contemplated for a moment, and then guided Liara’s hand back to Morim’s temple.

Javik stepped over to Garrus and said “You must leave.”

Garrus said “There is no way in hell I’m leaving her. Whatever you need to do – “

Javik repeated “You must leave. I will carry her and you will be far away.”

Garrus would have hit him if his hands weren’t occupied already. He removed his hand from her teeth because his fist needed to clench.

Liara said “Garrus. It’s for her. You need to do it for her. I can explain later, much later, but right now…I need to help her and you can’t be near.”

Karin said “Garrus, do as they say. I need to get her physically stabilized and I can’t do it here. Javik and Liara know by touch, can you do that?”

Garrus let Javik lift her from his nerveless hands while he sat, unable to stand. The idea that he wasn’t the best thing for her was foreign and something he couldn’t and didn’t accept, but his other option was to murder the people trying to help her.

Tali came forward and put her hand on his shoulder and he stood calmly, for her. If she hadn’t been there he might have destroyed every breakable thing in the shuttle. Tali was breakable. She was very, very breakable and he wouldn’t let drama put her in danger.

Cortez, who had been leaning on the door between the cabin and the pilot’s chair, shook his head and said “What happened?”

Garrus said “I don’t know. Whatever happened under the water. When she wakes, we'll ask her.”

Cortez nodded and although tense and worried, went about his after-mission checklist to maintain the shuttle. It was an example and Garrus would take it. Work. Get the next thing done if you can’t do anything else.

Tali said very quietly “Faith” and her voice sounded as unsteady as he felt.

Faith. He closed his eyes and thought. He said “Tali, go tell them everything we witnessed and everything she said. They need your help and I’m certain they have questions.”

She looked at him as though to measure his sanity and he tried to give her some to measure. He said “Faith. Tali, she’s incapacitated. The Normandy has no commander and I cannot be with her. I need to go talk to Joker and get us somewhere safe.”

There were rules, precedents, things he could do if he couldn’t help her body. He could help her Spirit. He could make sure the Normandy was safe.

Tali left to follow after Morim and Garrus headed to the CIC.

Joker said “Hey. Is she okay?’’

Garrus said “No. She’s not okay. She’s incapacitated. Karin, Liara and Javik are working on her and they tell me I can’t be near and can’t help, so I’m here instead.”

Joker said “We’re cloaked, but we are going to start tripping over Reapers soon. There’s never just one anymore.”

Garrus said “Yeah. We did notice that.”

Joker said “So you’re in charge?”

Garrus said “Yes. I need the status of the ship.”

Joker said “We’re good. We’re not overextended on fuel and the stealth systems hold up, but I worry about company.”

Garrus said “Okay. EDI, what is the nearest medical facility, search for Asari priority.”

EDI said “There is an Asari colony not far.”

Garrus said “Level of advancement?”

EDI said “Level 2 facility.”

Garrus said “We need a level 5 at least. I’m out of my depth, EDI, help me. She had mental contact with an ancient species. Possibly she is under their control, though that seems unlikely as they could have just kept us there. They do clearly oppose the Reapers but at this point I don’t know if that’s just eliminating competition. I don’t know how to detect their influence, but I do want to know who can. Liara and Javik are working on it, but I need a specialist.”

EDI said “There is a facility on Thessia that specializes and is the best, but I would not recommend it as Thessia is a main Reaper target and the hospital is likely compromised.”

Garrus said “All right then. Please calculate for refueling, security and access to specialized medical personnel. Commander Shepard is no longer fit for duty and will not be until she is cleared from interference from something we don't understand by someone we may not be able to trust.”

Joker said "Oh, that's going to be fun. I'm not going to tell her."

Garrus said "I’ll tell her. If they let me. At least if she hits me, we know I can take it."

Joker laughed and said "You could always order Liara to do it."

EDI said “Based on those parameters, there is a Salarian research colony that is much closer than other options, nearer to this system. Level 5 facility. There are Asari specialists in residence.”

Garrus said “Okay. Joker, head that way. Immediate priority is to determine extent of her injury in terms of a mission. Secondary priority is to maintain stealth and avoid any follow up Reaper contact. Evade as necessary.”

Joker said “Aye aye. So was that trip good or bad? Seems bad but a Reaper crashing into an ocean and drowning is also a good sign.”

Garrus said “Could have been much worse. Reaper at the bottom of the ocean and not her is a start. We’ll work on the rest. She says they will assist us.”

Joker said “Who is they?”

Garrus said “I have no idea. They seemed kind of shy.”

Joker said “All righty then. EDI get me the specs, I’ll change course.”

Garrus said “Thank you. EDI, run mission updates and communication alerts through me.”

EDI said “Acknowledged.”

He made his way first down to the Med Bay. What she’d do would be to reassure her crew and he could do that for her, but he needed information.

Liara, Javik and Karin were busy with her. He didn’t go in. Karin had left the blinds open and he could see, but he wouldn’t enter the room. No more seizures. No more blood. She was bone pale and still.

Liara was sitting beside her on the bed, her hand on Morim’s temple. Karin was busy with analysis. Javik stood behind Liara with his hand on her shoulder. 

Tali saw him and came out, hugged him and he gratefully returned the hug. She stepped back and said "I'm not sure I understand, but I'll tell you what they think is happening. From Liara's impression, what happened is that much like when she had the Prothean information put directly in her brain from the beacon, the Leviathan gave direct information to her, and took direct information from her. It is more complicated than I understand, but put in technical terms, it would be as though data were implanted directly into a system globally, hijacking or creating or overwriting the data that was already there. Liara is trying to help her absorb that information without losing it. She is also trying to help her keep and find old information that may have been displaced."

Garrus clenched his teeth and said "And I can't be by her side because?"

Tali said "Because your presence gives her powerful and unconscious information. I understand Turian bonding less than I do brain chemistry, but it seems that your presence alters her body and mind also?"

Garrus said "Yes, but she'll be in withdrawal…"

Tali said "They will keep her sedated. Garrus, her mind's infrastructure is on fire and flooded with information she can't organize. She needs to remember who she is and who she was. Liara said she had contacted Morim's mind recently, so she has a better idea of what belongs where, so to speak. Javik is trying to keep Liara from being overwhelmed herself. Karin is working on comparing blood samples, I think, from Morim in different states of mind?"

Garrus said "So if I got near her…"

Tali said "She'd remember who you are, not who she was."

Garrus felt panic clamp down in lightning tendrils. He said "Tali, she's wearing a necklace, you need to go take it off her. Bring it to me."

Tali said "Of course." She did as he asked. He held it carefully. The only time she'd ever taken it off was for their bonding ceremony.

She might forget who I am.

She might need to forget who I am.

That she loves you is on her face. You can show her again.

Garrus said "We're headed to a Level 5 facility with Asari therapists. Please relay the information when possible and let me know if there's anything they need. I will go inform the crew."

Tali said "Of course, Commander."

Garrus started at the title and opened his mouth, but didn't argue. He was going to need all the reinforcement of his authority that he could get. He needed to take every advantage.

Tali squeezed his hand and went back into the Med Bay. 

He turned, contemplating his next move. His next move was to go to their quarters and put her locket down carefully next to the Turian cruiser model. He remembered her face as she had pretended it was a shuttle, letting off tiny Turians.

She is going to be okay because you don't know a more agile mind.

Faith.

She is alive. You are hers. Hold on to that.

He moved without thought to her side of the bed and lifted her pillow to his face, took in a deep breath and stood there for long moments, breathing in who she was yesterday, wondering who she would be tomorrow.

Whoever she was, she'd need her ship and crew ready to go. 

He made the rounds of her - his - crew, starting by updating Cortez on her status.

Garrus said "Excellent work on the surface, thank you. Without your help rigging the Triton we wouldn’t have gotten it done, we'd be there still, running out of ammo."

Cortez said "Thank you…Commander. Yeah, that's weird."

Garrus said "Not just for you. Also hopefully temporary. Anything I should know? How are we doing?"

Cortez set another example by being professional and concise.

Vega was doing pull ups when Garrus made his way over to him. "Always the last to know, huh?"

Garrus said "I haven't told Traynor yet."

Vega said "Oh, she knows. Who do you think told me?"

Garrus said "I bet nobody told Alenko."

Vega paused at the top of the bar and laughed "Well, that does make me feel better."

Garrus said "Any questions?"

Vega said "Yeah, was it fucking worth it? What the hell is a Leviathan anyway and was it worth trading Shepard for it?"

Garrus said "She thought it was worth it. Before she fell over bleeding. I have that to go on."

Vega said "Yeah, well. She's more than a little loco."

Garrus said "And still is, would be my bet. I told Jeff and I'll tell you. I may be wrong but now she might be more than a little Leviathan and I need eyes on her without her knowing there are eyes on her."

Vega said "Got it. Is it true you were kicked out of the Med Bay?"

Garrus said "Not allowed into the Med Bay in the first place. She's struggling for identity and I'm apparently overpowering."

Vega laughed "Yeah, I'll buy that. I'll watch. If she forgets you, though, all bets are off and I'm taking my shot."

Garrus said "Taking a shot would be apt in that case."

Vega said "So me and my not fraternizing rule would save my life. I knew I was smart."

Garrus said "Yeah, it's not fair, but fair is her thing, not necessarily mine."

Vega said "So am I your second in command?"

Garrus said "Yeah, you are. Try not to let it change your gentle disposition."

Vega said "All right. She'll be okay."

Garrus said "She'll be okay. In the meantime let's make sure everything else is covered."

Vega grunted in assent and Garrus left to go tell Kaidan.

Garrus’s general attitude toward Kaidan as a person was to want to punch him for each second he'd made Morim worry or suffer. Then he wanted to shoot him for drawing down on her. As a Commander he needed to reassure and inform his crew. Although with everyone else he'd gone to them, he'd do this differently with Kaidan. Garrus went to the war table room and called Kaidan down to him. Start off by giving him an order and see if he'd follow it or question it.

Kaidan followed it without a hint of disagreement, showing up with alacrity and professional demeanor, not a whine or balk to be found. Good.

Garrus looked up at Kaidan and said "Commander Shepard is incapacitated. She is under the care of Dr. Chakwas, Liara and Javik. She is alive but under similar circumstances as when she contacted the Prothean beacon. I am now in Command, Vega is the new XO. Javik and Liara are going to be busy with Shepard's condition for a while. I need to know that when we need to go get something done, you are ready."

Kaidan didn't lose his professional stance and he said "Of course, Commander. Anything I can do."

Garrus was grateful and only wanted to punch him half as much. "Thank you. You were there, you saw it. I need you to head down to the Med Bay and be available to Dr. Chakwas should she need any information about her previous condition."

Kaidan said "Yes, sir."

Garrus said "As a personal request, not an order, as you are the only witness remaining, would you offer Liara an opportunity to look into your head for anything you don't remember that may be relevant? If I am not mistaken you also touched the beacon and may have insight to share."

Kaidan's eyebrows went up but then settled into determination. Happy to be of service, glad to be getting involved and having first-hand knowledge. Good for you, Alenko.

Kaidan said "Absolutely. If there is anything at all I can do to help, I will. We will get her back on her feet."

Garrus said "That's what I like to hear. Thank you. Dismissed."

Kaidan headed down to the Med Bay and Garrus let out a deep breath he'd been holding. Now I only want to punch him a quarter as much as I used to. I still want to shoot him. Maybe just take out a knee.

Morim's stats were stabilizing. Stress far down though still elevated, fewer spikes. He went to go feed her stupid hamster and fish.

He knew Liara, Tali, Karin or even Kaidan would let him know when they had the least update, so he went on about his business, officially informing Traynor and then immersing himself in the day to day catastrophes of ship maintenance and Palaven's trials.

Hard won habits bit down and he remembered to eat, remembered to drink.

Searching through intel files his spine froze on a particular line and he contacted Traynor again "I need confirmation of intel regarding a Salarian research site. I have conflicting reports, one from Palaven and one from the Alliance. I need confirmation of status. I need everything, Traynor, now."

His father and sister had been evacuated from Palaven and were somewhere reasonably safe, but not in the loop. He was not sure he could contact them.

The Caduceus research station had last been heard reporting being hit by Batarian pirates. No further communication. Caduceus was where his mother had been trying a new treatment. 

Of his two Avahs, one was likely dead and he couldn’t tell the other because she wasn’t herself.

Traynor called him and said "I was able to pick up some encrypted communications and video. It looked like a merc vessel, bearing Blood Pack insignia. I think that's a misdirection because the intercepted communications did not match Blood Pack encryption and came from a different source. The associated user is Ka’hairal Balak. Batarian External Forces. According to intel, he is the highest ranking member of the Hegemony left alive."

The sharp stab of ice to the gut stayed out of his voice. "Thank you. Please confirm with EDI, I need all information available on his whereabouts and activities. This is a priority, we need everything now."

Ka'hairal Balak. They'd met while the man was trying to drive an asteroid into Terra Nova. Morim had let him go in order to save hostages.

Garrus would have killed him. He'd said so, Balak had heard.

So…make Morim's husband so angry he would hold her responsible for his mother's death. Not a bad guess based on Garrus's temper.

This was not a random pirate attack, this was an intended strike to take out Morim's support structure, a vindictive attack that could also potentially gain Balak access to information regarding Turian neurological disorders and by reverse engineering, how to induce them.

Garrus's face went blank, dark and still. He could do everything he wanted to do. He had enough power to go in and see his wife. He wouldn’t. He had enough power to change course and go directly to Caduceus. He wouldn’t. He could make a colossal mistake and try to think like she did instead of going by his own instincts. He wouldn’t.

These were now his problems to solve and command was like armor, protective and restricting.

What he had to do was to get this right. 

Morim was his first priority. The Normandy was his second. They needed to hold course to get her help.

He called Primarch Victus and told him everything regarding Balak. He tried to contact the Salarian Dalatrass but was unable to speak to her. Instead he contacted the Turian Councilor and asked him to inform the Salarian Councilor of the attack on the research station at Caduceus. The Dalatrass called him in return with gratifying speed and he put her in contact with Primarch Victus in order to coordinate search and rescue efforts, to not get in each other’s way. 

Both promised action and updates. Both Victus and the Dalatrass had been aware his mother was at the station, and offered him condolences on his bereavement. He thanked them politely.

Bereavement would have to wait.

He didn't want to contact his family until he was certain about the station. 

Tali brought him food to the war table and he thanked her. He didn't want to get into it with Tali or anyone about his mother until he knew more. He said "How is she doing?" instead.

Tali said "Liara is still at work. She thinks all of her memories are still there, but they're…misfiled, miscategorized in her head."

Garrus nodded and said "What does Karin say?"

Tali said "Pressure change in an unreliable vessel caused brain edema. She functioned well under pressure and adrenaline…"

Garrus smiled and said "And stubborn."

Tali smiled and said "And stubborn. She functioned well enough until circumstances changed. It's possible the Leviathan had her under their control until she reached the surface, or didn't let her go until her vomiting and seizures began. She also had decompression sickness. Karin got her into a hyperbaric chamber to regulate her body’s reactions. It's possible also that her headache and other symptoms could come directly from that alone."

Garrus said "Does Liara think she's under Leviathan influence?"

Tali said "I didn't think to ask, and she didn't say. I imagine if she did…"

Garrus said "She might not tell me until she was sure. I'll ask her myself."

Tali said "Morim is still sedated."

Garrus said "Good. That didn't look like it was fun." 

Tali said "If you need anything…"

Garrus said "I'll let you know. Thank you, Tali. Oh, wait, hey. Did Kaidan provide any help?"

Tali said "Yes. Javik got the information from him and relayed it to Liara. She said it was helpful in the way a photo reference helps with solving a puzzle. She is sorting through innumerable pieces trying to figure out where they go."

Garrus said "Good. Thank you. Everything seems to be under control."

Tali said "As much as they can be. I have faith. We will see this through."

Garrus said "I can always provide her with new memories."

Tali said "You might even look forward to it."

He said "That I do."

She put a hand on his shoulder, and then moved to her station in the war room, and they worked parallel to one another.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

By the second day Morim was deemed able to be conscious if necessary, but she was still sedated. He still was not permitted to see her. He cornered Javik for a better explanation as Liara was still the primary caretaker of his wife's mind and he didn't want to waste her time. Javik's brevity was for once helpful.

Javik said "By blocking access to certain parts of her own history, Liara has provided Commander Shepard with smaller amounts of information for her to absorb, reducing stress and allowing information to be recalled in a more natural manner. Liara states she retains language and her own personality, both hard won. The personality of the Leviathan is strong, but she does not believe it was intended to take over Commander Shepard's mind. The mind is interconnected and triggering one memory could trigger an entire cascade of too much chaotic information to spill out. We must be cautious." Garrus's face made him say "and patient."

Garrus said "Thank you. How much function will she regain short term to long term?"

Javik said "I do not know. Liara believes she can restore all function over time, but Commander Shepard has yet to wake from sedation. From what I understand from Dr. Chakwas, human brain injuries are difficult to predict and there is a healing factor as well as an assimilation factor."

Garrus said "What do you think will happen?"

Javik said "I do not know."

Garrus thought he should have known better than to ask. He said instead "Thank you for your assistance and thank you for the information. We are headed to Nara colony, there Liara can get some therapist backup. How is Liara doing?"

Javik said "She is exhausted and she is strained and she will not stop."

Garrus said "If there is anything I can do, anything you need, it is yours."

Javik said "Then allow me to pass and that requirement will be fulfilled."

Garrus stood aside and let Javik go.

His mind was eerily calm. Leadership allowed him to look to the next right thing to do. There were no major breakthroughs, no change in status, either in Morim's condition or in the information about Caduceus.

He had a job to do and he'd let Liara and Karin do theirs. Liara had decided that his scent, his face, and particularly his voice was not something to be taken lightly.

He ate. He worked. He drank. He slept no more and no less than four hours. He stayed calm. He helped others do the same. He began to see how necessary it was for her to be kind, to be funny, to maintain a rapport with such distinct people. 

He learned new wishes of his heart. 

Please do not let it be true that my mother suffered.

Please let Morim return to me.

His work became his walking devotion. Faith.

They reached the Nara colony in three days. Morim was still sedated and Liara insisted on meeting the therapist and linking before letting them see to Morim. He agreed completely. Liara had not left Morim's side, had been there for every moment of her crisis. She knew how much Garrus had wanted to be there, and she did everything he could have wanted. She had slept by the second day, but only briefly, and had kept Morim’s hand in hers the entire time, in more of a trance than sleep. Liara had not allowed anybody to convince her to do otherwise. Javik had brought her food, run interference between her and Garrus, filled every need of maintenance and concern for her. If he could have transfused his sleep to her, he would have done it.

There was no reason to ask if Javik was in love with Liara, it was obvious. There was no need to ask if Liara returned his love, because otherwise she would have sent him away. Whatever they had shared through proximity, through devotion, he recognized it.

It hadn't begun with Morim's injury because Javik had been close enough to Liara to follow her in. Good. Spirits bless you both, may you find happiness.

A regal Asari matron by the name of Nuar T'Kes boarded the Normandy and after a brief conference with Liara, was allowed to approach Morim. She had skin that flushed more violet than Liara's, with silver dappling. Karin briefed her as to her physical condition and Nuar's hands reached to Morim as he watched through the glass, helpless and hopeful. 

He waited patiently, glacial seconds, then minutes, scraping by. Morim was entirely physically stable now, all levels optimum. Nuar's probing seemed to leave not a ripple. It looked as though nothing had happened except that Nuar's eyes closed.

He watched Morim's placid face for any sign. He'd know soon if his wife would return to him or if he'd spend his life sitting at her side hoping something could break through. Whether or not he would stay away from her for her own good, or be useless at her side, no effect.

Please, Venri, hear me. I am ordering you to be well.

Nuar broke contact and turned to Karin, he couldn’t hear what they said. Karin was smiling, though. Nuar came out of the Med Bay and turned to Liara and said "Sim're, you have done well. You will be proud of what you have done for your sister."

Liara smiled, tears in her eyes "Thank you, Matron, you bring me joy."

Nuar turned to Garrus and said "Commander Vakarian. Blessings to you and to your Venri. I believe she will be whole. We must move slowly, but we will move. She will return to you. She loves you beyond all things, and it is an honor to know of you. I was on the Citadel when Sovereign attacked. If there is any way further I can be of assistance, I shall be. I am blessed that you called upon me."

Garrus said "Whole? She…" his voice broke.

Nuar smiled and lifted her hand to his temple and said "Will you accept a gift from a supplicant?"

He nodded, stunned, and she lifted her hand and closed her eyes. With Liara's blessing and Nuar's promise she could do anything with his mind that she wanted. 

What she wanted was to reassure him and offer her knowledge in a more solid way. Nuar had seen Morim’s mind and wished to share what she could of what she knew. She would tell him nothing that Morim would not already think he knew, that she'd tried to tell him herself.

Morim would hold the galaxy in one hand and him in the other, and he would be more to her.

Morim would die for him, live for him, dedicate each breath to him and count the heartbeats she was with him above others.

Morim would not stop, would not change, she was Adamant and time, unyielding and uncompromising in her devotion.

Peace and faith flooded him and he stood in that for a moment, then asked if she would do the same for Morim, show her.

Nuar offered assent.

He asked about how to help Morim.

Nuar showed him. Patience. Faith. Love.

He promised that he would do as she asked and thanked her.

Nuar broke contact and moved to Liara and said "Sim're, you must rest. I will be here. She will be well. It will be no other way."

Liara's shoulders sagged and she said "I don't want to leave her now."

Nuar said “Your feet must turn off this path as I set my feet upon it. No harm will come."

Liara said "If you…oh…all right. Please…"

Nuar said "I hear you."

Liara turned to Javik, who gave her an arm to lean on.

Nuar said to him "I must speak to Dr. Chakwas, who you must know saved her life as Liara saved her mind. All will be well. Go and do what you must do, I will speak with you when I am finished here."

Garrus nodded and watched as Nuar took her place again in the Med Bay.

He still could not touch Morim, Liara had been right, Nuar had confirmed. But he would be able to soon…and Morim would be whole.


	24. Chapter 24

Garrus

Within a day Nuar had allowed him to visit Morim. They would need to go slow and allow her memory to reassert itself without forcing it.

Facts were important. He could give her facts, but not all of the facts. They needed to measure her progress, allow her to discover much of it on her own. He, Nuar and Liara had agreed that Morim’s basic personality would be prone to lying, and allowing her to do so without precaution would be counterproductive if not destructive. Morim with the bit in her teeth would be a disaster. They needed to withhold some facts because of her position and her authority. If they told her she was the Commander of this vessel she would be likely to demand immediate restoration of power. She would bluff and fake her way to information without knowing its significance. Her relationship to him was linked to so much that revealing it would come later, with much already in place. He would also be able to verify whether she remembered or guessed…hopefully. She would be able to guess a great deal, but not things like names, dates and passcodes. 

He should confirm what she knew on her own if possible. Her imagination could create truths with no context. When she found a memory it would trigger other associated memories. She was in a mild hypnotic state, prone to suggestion. Necessary to keep her from full-blown panic and paranoia. Nuar had shown him, explained it to him. Her connections were there, but they were dark. Some memories would not be available until lit up by her own efforts or those of Nuar. This state was necessary emotionally and medically to allow her the freedom to explore, but not allow her to drown in everything that might come at her, from Reapers to Leviathan to being dead. He thought he could do it, but what he really wanted to do was crawl in bed next to her with some rope.

Nuar had told him that although the Leviathan were not in control of her as far as she could tell, they had given Morim information of a depth and scale that were overwhelming. Time scale to a creature eons old was not the same for a human, and storage of it was permanent, inextricable from her own memory. She might remember being a Leviathan. It might overwhelm her sense of human self. Nuar had done her best to mitigate that information, separate the experience from the information she needed, but it would be there always.

For now he was Commander Vakarian of the Normandy. He would need to reintroduce himself. She was familiar with Nuar and Liara and Karin, though she didn't remember Liara or Karin by design. She was docile enough to treatment, but as some of the sedation wore off she was not patient. At least she hadn’t broken anything. Yet. Patience had never been Morim’s strength, and with the attendant mystery her curiosity was in overdrive, linked to her formidable survival instincts. 

He brought her some cookies from their room. He had contemplated moving out, wondering if she’d be transferred back to their cabin without her memory restored, but he’d chosen not to do so. It would be impossible to restore her as Commander if her memories were blocked. They would not be separated and she wouldn’t be placed in the position of wondering why she had the biggest room on the ship, or be there alone struggling with what she was experiencing. She needed to stay confined to the Med Bay where she was watched and her potential paranoia and definite cleverness and resourcefulness couldn’t run amok on a ship with Extranet connections and weapons. Once they began restoring her memory, he would be there for all of it unless Nuar determined he was a hindrance. Morim would have to tell him she wanted to be separated from him, if she chose. The idea that she could retain herself but not him was a fear he was keeping decidedly away from himself except in flashes of lightning fear. He was practicing faith. He wasn’t very good at it.

In preparation for letting down the blocks that led to him, Nuar wanted to let her meet him again, see that he was safe, have that information in her mind when it all flooded back. His part in her life accounted for an avalanche of information that needed a controlled slide. Nuar had asked him to look beyond Morim’s reactions, to think of the future and to not be upset that she did not recognize him, because that would pass and it was necessary for now. This was like acclimating her to the temperature of the water before dunking her under, hoping she wouldn’t drown, backsliding into shock. Hoping she would remember how to swim.

They would repeat the pattern, acquainting her with people or concepts before introducing the memories, give her some context and reality to hang them on, reassure herself that she wasn’t making it up. 

Taking a deep breath he calmed his heart and walked casually into the Med Bay. Her eyes followed him, but not in the way he was accustomed. She was curious only. He spoke to Karin briefly as arranged and then he pulled up a chair and sat by Morim’s bedside. Looking at her he almost forgot what to say, but then managed “Hello, Ms. Shepard. I’m Commander Vakarian, I wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing.”

Morim smiled and said “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Everyone has me at a disadvantage. Do I know you?”

Garrus smiled at that and said “We’ve worked together for years, yes. Don’t worry about disadvantages, it will pass.”

She considered and said “I hope so. I don’t know where to start. I’ve been told the answers will come. Do you bring answers?”

He said with an air of temptation “I bring cookies.”

She brightened with surprise and said “Oh, even better. Hand them over.”

He presented her with the box and she took it, opened it and said “Do you want one?”

He shook his head, saying “I can’t eat them.”

She looked sympathetic for a moment, contemplating a world with no cookies, and then took a bite, saying “Oh, that sucks. You have good taste in cookies.”

He asked “Can I get you anything else? How are you feeling?”

She looked at him speculatively and said “I feel fine. Little bit of a headache and some muscle strain, but that’s why I’m here, right? You can get me some answers.”

He watched her and knew her well enough to see that she was playing the friendly innocent, angling for information. Snow the clueless Turian, get the cookie bringer charmed and primed. Oh, my Bakan, you are in there. You don’t have your memories, but you are still you. Thank the Spirits. He leaned back in his chair and said “I don’t know. Information may just be on a need to know basis. Maybe I’m not authorized.”

She wheedled “Come on, Commander…you are Commander, right? This is your ship? What could I do with unclassified information unless I’m already classified. Am I classified? You could tell me that.”

He said indulgently “Certainly you’re classified.”

She asked quickly “What kind of classified?”

He in a tone of regret “Unfortunately that’s classified.”

She ate another cookie and said, teasing “You’re distinctly unhelpful. Is that what I’m dealing with here?”

He shrugged and said “Well, I’m the Commander. I’m not required to be helpful.”

She capitulated, then changed course, asking “But you brought me cookies anyway. How did you know I’d like them?”

He looked at the cookies with distaste and said “Over the years you’ve had questionable taste in food.”

She asked “How many years?”

He was trying to make fact checks on the fly, see what would or would not set her off. He also had to make sure it was the truth enough that if…when…she remembered, she wouldn’t blame him for lying. He said mildly “About four years.”

She chewed thoughtfully, swallowed and then said “Did I serve with you for all that time?”

He said in neutral tones “No, you took a two year hiatus.”

She tilted her head, alert to his voice and said “Did I do anything interesting?”

He smiled and answered “Always.”

She twisted her lips and then said “You’re really not going to tell me?”

He tilted his head and shook it and then said “I’m really not going to tell you. The doctor will not allow me to visit again if I do. This might be my ship, but this is her Med Bay and if I ever want to be able to come back in here again I’d better do as she says.”

She appeared to give in with grace again, and settled back into the charm phase of her plan, saying “Now that would be a shame. You not being able to visit. I think I like you, Commander Vakarian.”

He smiled and said “You do. And I like you. I’ve been assured you’re going to know everything you need to know at your own pace, so we’ll take it slow.”

She said with ease “Thank you. I believe you. I do, I don’t know…must be those four years, and the cookies. They weren’t drugged, were they?”

He said confidentially “I don’t have to drug you, Morim. The doctor could do that for me.”

She laughed and said “Fair enough. If you won’t tell me stories I ask you to tell, would you please stay and bullshit with me some more at least? I am bored beyond reckoning. Unless you need to get back, in which case I can keep my boredom classified until I have everything I need to bust out of this joint and make a run for it.”

He considered her fast-paced manipulation, appealing for sympathy and adding on a vague threat that might become less vague as time went by. He said “I know your Omnitool is disabled. I did that myself.” I can’t activate it because you’ll find a way to hack it even if I just gave you access to music. You’d see the news, Reapers and Commander Shepard splashed across every bulletin.

She leaned back, looked at him speculatively and said “So you know my passwords.”

He answered definitively “I know your passwords. You knew mine and will know them again. You’re safe. You’re healing. You’re you.”

She pretended to whisper “Nobody will tell me about me. I’m beginning to suspect I’m evil.”

He laughed and said “The way you’re still trying despite being told no, you’re you.”

She said with a smile “I hope that’s a good thing.”

He said sincerely “Morim, it’s the best thing.”

She pretended to think and then said in mock whisper “Then maybe you’re evil too.”

He shrugged “Maybe I am. Hold on a moment, I’ll be right back.”

He walked over to Karin and asked if he could take Morim for a walk, just to the starboard observation lounge, get her on her feet and keep her from stewing in her own head. After a brief consult with Nuar, they both agreed. He needed to go slow, kept her calm and let them know immediately with any change.

He walked back to Morim and held out a hand to her and said “Let’s take a walk. You can see some of the ship and get out of this room.”

She took his hand without hesitation and his heart squeezed. She wasn’t all that steady on her feet and his hand went to her lower back to support her. Her different-but-same emerald eyes met his, startled. She said lightly “But what if you’re evil? You sure I should go with you?”

Spirits help me, Bakan, you’re flirting. He leaned in as if to whisper something and said sotto voce “You want to get back into bed or do you want to risk it?”

She grinned and said “Risk. I think I like risk.”

He agreed “You do.”

She answered “Knew it” and tried to walk. She was shaky, but she could do it. Karin offered them a chair and Morim said “Please, let me walk. Please?” Her voice was heartbreaking, nearly to pleading. Karin stepped aside with a smile and he helped Morim concentrate on walking.

People stared, but didn’t approach, and he finally had her to himself. She gripped his hand to keep herself steady and he kept his other hand on her lower back, and she tortuously made her way to the observation deck where he was guiding her. She was focusing on walking, watching her feet, but he’d have to remember to block her view of the name board on the way back. Dammit, too many reminders.

When the doors opened she sucked in a breath and said “That’s beautiful. It’s…it’s all strange, but I feel at home here.”

He said “The Normandy has been your home for a long while.” He moved the same couch where they’d begun a honeymoon and sat in front of the same window looking out at the stars and gestured for her to sit.

She said dismissively “I’ll stand.”

He said sternly “You’ll sit.”

She said with irritation “I’ve been in bed for…how long? You can at least answer that.”

He said calmly “Five days.”

She was more irritated than upset, saying “Five days! I don’t want to sit.”

He observed “Your knees are about to collapse.”

She bit out “So let me decide when they actually do collapse and…” she sucked in a breath “Okay, right about now. Sitting would be good now.” She sat down and put her head between her hands. She was trembling with sweat beading on the back of her neck. 

He imagined stroking his finger over her skin lightly, leaning in and tasting her. He was near to trembling himself with the restraint it took to keep from dragging her into the shuttle and flying down to the colony, bundling her into some forest somewhere, finding a cave, keeping her safe.

I’d have you to myself. I could show you everything you needed to know about how much I love you. You’ve smelled like mine for so long and now your scent without me makes the need to mark you recur like hunger, like thirst, minute by minute. You don’t even know what’s yours. I’m yours.

No kissing.

No marking.

No running.

Patience.

He hated patience. A lot.

She tilted her head back and said “Okay. What’s my favorite color?”

He looked at her face and said “Red.”

She said curiously, irritation forgotten in new information “Like my hair or like blood?”

He said quietly “Like your face.”

She said, startled “My face is red? Is it from that walk?”

He said gently “Have you seen your face since you woke?”

She said with a blank look in her eyes along with confusion “No…I haven’t…I think I know what I look like.”

He punched up a reflective mirror surface on his Omnitool and angled it so she could see.

She ran her fingers over her cheekbones. “Yeah…I guess I do like red. Okay. Thank you.”

He said with warmth “You’re welcome.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she said quietly “Do I also like blue?”

You love blue. You can see it in my eyes, the color and the love. Right now I want to push you back, hold you down, thrust into you and I don’t care if you don’t know my name. He wanted to say it. He wanted to do it. Instead he leaned back and said “Well, who doesn’t like blue?”

She laughed and then said “How did that happen to your face?”

She looked fine now, sharp and engaged, filling in blanks based on his reactions. He said “You were there.”

She said teasingly “I didn’t do it, did I?”

He said with reassurance “No, you didn’t do it. A rocket from a gunship did it. You made sure I didn’t die from it.”

She looked at him for a few moments and then said “That’s good. A guy that can survive a rocket to the face is good to have around. Think of how bored I’d be if you were gone.”

He said with mock fervor to cover real fervor “I have. It’s unthinkable.”

She said thoughtfully “Unthinkable. Good word for today. It’s…uh…this is hard, but…thank you, for helping me escape. The inside of my head is a small place right about now.”

He said reassuringly “You’ll make room. You don’t need to worry that you are in trouble or that you did anything wrong to put yourself in this position. These people, this crew, would do anything for you.”

Some of the effort fell from her face and she looked vulnerable, less like Shepard and more like his Venri as she said “I hope…I hope I can live up to that. Right now walking makes me dizzy.”

He said with certainty “You’ve earned a bit of dizziness. Nobody is going to think less of you for it.”

She closed her eyes and said “I don’t know what they think of me at all. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know who you are.”

He said quietly “You can trust me.”

She closed her eyes and said “Okay. I’m…I’m a lot shakier than I thought I’d be. I guess among the other things I don’t know about myself, I don’t know my current strength. I do get better? I’m not always like this?”

He said, to try to satisfy the question underlying the question “You are always brave.”

She said with a hitch in her breath…real? Faked? He couldn’t tell if she were about to try to hit him and run away. She’d likely worked out she wouldn’t get far. “Then would you consider it a sign of bravery if I asked you to…”

The only concern he had was that she’d ask him an unanswerable question and he wouldn’t be able to give it to her, it was the only thing that stopped him from saying “Anything.” He waited.

She didn’t trust him but she knew she needed him. “Will you help me get myself back?”

He said with full truth “It is the only thing I want to do right now.”

She said with a tilt to her head “Thank you. That wasn’t what I was going to ask. Maybe I’m not always brave.”

He said calmly “Then ask.”

She said tentatively “Would you let me lean on you, just for a little while?”

He thought Nicely played, Bakan and said “For as long as you have need of me.”

She smiled and shifted her weight to lean against his shoulder. “Four years, huh?” She sounded pleased with herself.

He said in agreement “Four years.”

She asked “But I left you…I mean, left your service?”

He answered in vague but solid truth “Yes, but it was my idea, and it was a stupid idea, and I’d take it back if I could.”

She said gently, in her way of testing out someone’s sense of humor he knew well “So you’re not evil, but you’re stupid?”

His mind knew this path, and his mind was happy to be on it. He said with answering humor “You may not always tell me that I am, but you certainly have shown me often.”

She followed up with “Am I stupid?”

He said in teasing tones “Definitely sometimes yes.”

She asked lightly “Did I ever tell you that you have a nice voice?”

She was in there. She would come back to him. He felt that knowledge release from his bones. He said just as lightly “You might have mentioned it.”

She said smugly “Okay, so I’m smart too.”

He said as though it were still in question “Sometimes.”

She pressed fingers to her temples and said “Uh…my head…it’s starting to hurt. Not badly, but in a way that they told me to stop if it got this way.”

He asked quietly “Scale of one to ten, Morim, how bad?”

She thought and then said “Maybe a…four? I’m trying to be honest but…I don’t want to leave. I just maybe shouldn’t talk so much.”

Unable to resist doing it, he shifted her position and pulled her into his lap, her head moving against his chest, in a way he knew she could hear his heart beat. Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned against him. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. It’s an action, not an answer. It has been a long five days, Venri, and I am perhaps not all that sane myself. He contemplated faith while she settled herself against him after a few moments with an echo of the trust she granted him. Her fingertips and then her palm settled against his shirt, over his heart. His arm come around her to rest on her waist as his heart pounded.

She asked “Commander Vakarian?”

It’s true and it’s not true and I’m going to enjoy you calling me that. He answered “Yes?” 

She said quietly “Don’t tell me your first name. I want to remember it.”

He said with certainty “You will.”

She asked “Are you married?”

He answered “I am bonded, yes.”

She continued in that vein “Do you love her?”

He closed his eyes and said “My love for her is as close to infinite as a Turian can get.”

She was quiet for a moment and then said “Lucky woman.” He could tell she was smiling.

He replied in the same tone “Lucky Turian.” He hoped she could tell he was smiling too. I don’t need a time machine now to know how long it would take. You’re so good at interrogation that you got most of your answers in minutes, whether or not I answered them. You're noting my silences and when I take time to answer and you're going to exploit that, on me and on everyone else. Now if only we can keep your head from exploding.

She asked lightly “Commander Vakarian?”

He answered “Yes?”

She said with innocent curiosity “What do I do on this ship?”

He said with humor “If I start answering these questions, you’re going to start to bleed from the ear and I am going to have to take you back to the Med Bay and they’ll tell me I can’t see you. Again.”

She tsked and then said “But I can stay here if I shut up?”

He answered with mock authority “Yes, for once in your life, stop pushing.”

She replied “So I’m a pain in the ass?”

He said regretfully “You can infer my answer, but if you ask again, I’m taking you back.”

She capitulated, saying “Okay. I can tell that is true. Pain is starting to make its way to a five.”

He advised “Turn off your engine. Idle for a while.”

She asked tentatively “You’ll stay here?”

He told her with meaning in the words beyond this moment “I’ll stay. I will not leave you. No bleeding. No questions.”

She sounded relieved “Okay. Your heart is beating like crazy.”

He repeated “No questions.”

She said with argumentative precision “It’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

He replied “Your heart is beating like crazy too.”

She answered disingenuously “Well, I’m sick.”

He said drily “Uh huh. I'm sure that's it.”

She laughed, that lovely sound he adored, knowing and free. He ran his fingers through her hair, breathed her in and was grateful to have this moment, with her in his arms. 

He expected her to ask more questions, but she didn’t. She fell asleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She

She was standing in a room. The walls would flicker and change. Bone, silver, water. Before she could focus on one pattern, it would change.

Bone and red, a coffin.

Silver, a wall in a corridor.

Water, a wall.

Water. The water let her focus. She knew the minds of those around her, she dominated their intentions. She was not a she. The water itself would follow commands.

Then that sense faded and once again silver, a wall in a corridor. A corridor filled with water that would not follow her commands.

She was a she and her thoughts were imprisoned, weightless and forceless and the water would drown her. She had no power. She was as thoughtless as the water in comparison to what she knew could have been, had been, would be.

She knew she couldn't breathe, and cursed having to breathe at all, hands at her throat, choking.

She heard a woman's voice. She knew it, she trusted it. "Nothing here can harm you. Imagine yourself being safe and safety will come to you."

Safe. What was safety for her when she was a she?

Mild panic rippled through her because she couldn't remember safe if it wasn't water. She couldn't remember she.

Safe. Maybe.

She surrounded herself with water and closed her eyes, and stopped breathing, experiencing the comforting flow in and around a familiar body with no names. She didn't need to breathe here, she could be in the water and she could be home.

What is my name?

A Turian voice answered. The sound set the water to boil.

"You have many names."

Tell me what they are.

"You will remember."

I remember too much, and not enough.

"Yes."

You are distinctly unhelpful.

"Breathe."

Ages of water, comfort of water, breath of water, color of blue.

Shepard

Waking from dreams brought more disorientation. She knew that she had something to know, but the rest was maddening. She had the impulse to reach for information, but didn't know where it was. At least she thought the people here were benevolently lying to her. She didn't feel she was going crazy, but she was treated as though she had and she would. She also knew the difference between clear headed and medicated, and she was medicated. Two Asari attendants, a human military doctor and a Turian bodyguard on a military ship. That’s a lot of firepower for one small human.

She was Under The Influence and she had no idea how many influences, but certainly mental, certainly chemical and certainly physical. She'd joked about running away, but she knew better. Run where, exactly?

Run to an open terminal where she could look at the daily news and start from there. Who was unclear. What was unclear. She could get to when and where and work on why.

Turian bodyguard was theoretically in charge. He carried himself with ease. He clearly cared for her. She knew about Asari, about Turians in general but not specifically. Asari were definitely the sort of people to mentally shelter another. Turians were more likely to shoot humans than not, so this was a unique Turian. Or was she a unique human? Both?

Four years known, two years gone. All years lost.

My name is Morim Shepard. Do I believe that?

I don't know what to believe.

Turian bodyguard could tell when I was angling and still tried to give me what I wanted if he could. Good to know.

His name is Commander Name Unknown Vakarian. Do I believe that?

I don't know what to believe.

What is my rank?

Commander.

I just thought that because I just thought that and it's stuck in my head. I'm priming myself. My questions and circumstances are dictating my answers and they are unreliable.

Do they have divers on board military vessels? He said I liked risk and that I push. Do I believe that?

Oh yes. I believe that.

Am I a diver?

I don't know.

He smells good. He sounds good. He feels good. Safe. I don't want to move. If I move it's back to bed and blood samples and tests and smiling Asari women who will give me nothing about myself. He is my best chance at information.

Her headache had faded, but she did need to stretch. He was in the same position. She had no idea what time it was, how long she'd been here. Maybe he was asleep and she could ease away. Why not at least try? If they are lying about the ship you'll find out fast. If they're not lying to you that could help as information. 

If they catch you they can drug you under again.

She had a vague terrifying memory of being drugged over and over to forget something. Hands bound. Cold. Endless. 

That's not good.

Turians were not by nature all that affectionate toward humans. She'd asked to lean on him to get some contact, some support, some information. She believed that she knew him and had been hoping to spark some sort of memory, but nothing except a headache came of it.

Being held in the Commander’s lap while she slept was not military protocol. 

Did she want to trade a hospital bed for the brig?

Hands bound. Cold. Endless.

No.

Did she want to see how far she could push him to see what information he spit out?

Yeah. She did.

What did he want?

He said he wanted her to remember.

He wanted her.

If she was willing to use that information, so likely would he be.

He was married. Definitively married.

You’re on his lap.

She heard a voice in her head, saw a woman in combat gear saying “Ask me to jump and I will say how high. Ask me to kiss a Turian and I will ask which cheek.”

That was something solid. Disconnected from context, but solid. Other than vague impressions, this was her first memory that was a situation with pictures she couldn’t have predicted based on her mental state and surroundings.

Did Turians kiss?

That thought sent a rippling echo through her. The darkness inside her head reverberated with something. 

That. Follow that.

She decided maybe he’d fallen asleep as well and perhaps she could find her way to a few things on her own. If she was caught, she could take advantage of looking disoriented if she had to. It wouldn’t be hard. She might even just pull off a dramatic and realistic faint since walking a hundred yards or so almost did it anyway. She could take advantage of memory loss as a given.

Memory lost or memory taken?

She lifted her head cautiously and moved her hand reluctantly. If I have been involved with this gentleman I have very good taste and I’m really sorry I don’t remember. Turning her head to look up, he was looking at her. She thought he was smiling. So much for sneaky options. Her bodyguard was not going to nap.

She shifted gears fast and said “Thank you…for the pillow.”

He answered “You are welcome.” She was hit, not for the first time, with the differential between what he was saying and what he knew, echoing the idea that he knew what she was thinking. Please be on my side, because I am fucked otherwise. His voice held a depth of intimacy that purred down her spine.

Stop that. Focus.

She said as a distraction “I…I think I remember something.”

He nodded neutrally and said “What is it?”

She said tentatively “A woman. I was talking to her and she said ‘Ask me to jump and I will say how high.’”

His voice was teasing. “Yes. Is that all you got?”

Okay, it was embarrassing, but it was a memory, so she said “Ask me to…”

He responded “Kiss a Turian…”

She was relieved, and finished the quote, saying “And I’ll ask you which cheek.”

He seemed to ignore the context of kissing a Turian and said “Yes. That is a true memory. I was there. Her name was Ashley Williams, and she served with us.”

Hope cascaded through her mind and she said “Okay. It’s a huge relief, having something, anything, to hold on to.” She paused “Was?”

He said neutrally “Ashley was killed.”

She said “Oh. I was hoping maybe to talk to her, shake something loose.”

His eyes held hers as emotions and thoughts she couldn’t identify passed through them. He said “I’m sorry.”

Ashley was important, it seemed, but she had nothing other than that quote. The quote wasn’t really about Ashley though, so she’d follow the reason it came to her. She said “Did I…talk about kissing Turians often?” He couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, and the look in his eyes made her say “Or did I just do it?” She lifted her head to press her mouth to the plates of his. Contact pulled a soft squeaking sound from her and her mind hummed yesyesyesyes, this. Yes.

Okay. She was on to something here.

He held rigidly still for a moment. She couldn’t see him, her eyes were closed, but she felt the tension in him, wondering if he was about to throw her off. Yes, I like risk. When she dragged her bottom lip under one of the lower points of his plates his arms came hard around her and he leaned, pushing her back against the arm of the couch. His hands came up to either side of her face, his thumbs stroking along her cheekbones, and he kissed her back, moving her head to meet his mouth. His teeth pulled her upper lip between them and his tongue swept into her mouth, moved against the line of her teeth and then twining with her tongue. He was growling and she was dizzy and it hurt and oh…please do that again. She started breathing hard through her nose and one of her hands came up to trace along his mandible, the other to grasp his forearm.

That stopped him and he pulled back. 

Nonononono. Don’t stop…

He tilted his forehead to hers and said “Morim…V…Morim…” He laughed ruefully and said “Morim…what is my name?”

She thought…V…Vakarian. Was that right? Hard to think. “Vakarian.” She said. She knew that wasn’t the answer to what he asked. But V…V what? Thoughts and walls bulged in her mind, headache reasserting itself.

If she had a home she wanted it to be here. She said “Tell me.” Her voice was pleading. She didn’t like pleading.

His eyes were gentle as he said “We can’t do that.”

She answered with fervor “We clearly can, and we’re good at it.”

He laughed and pulled her back up, still in his lap. “Yes. We are.” He tilted his head back, his hand idling patterns on her back.

She had to know too many things at once, so she asked “So is my name Vakarian?”

He looked at her and she could not read his face, but he shook his head slowly, saying “No, it isn’t.” It didn’t sound like a no.

She lifted a hand and traced the scar on the side of his throat. Bite marks. Human. Not Turian.

His head jerked up and his hand came to hers and he said “Stop.”

She started talking before she knew what she was really planning to say “I don’t know your name. But I know…I know I did that.” She didn’t know, she was bluffing. She wanted it to be true.

He repeated, his hands holding hers immobile “What is my name, Morim?”

She answered flippantly “Tell me and I’ll tell you. Easy trade.”

He appreciated the attempt, she could tell, but the answer from him was still predictable as he said “No.”

She laughed and said “Rumplestiltskin.”

He tilted his head and said “What? That didn’t translate.”

She answered ruefully “Damn, I was hoping that was your name. There’s a fairy tale about him.”

He chuckled and said “Fairy tales have gotten us in trouble before.”

She leaned her face back closer to his and said “Really. Tell me about it.”

He looked at her, his hands tightened on hers and he said “Apparently they lie because Sleeping Beauty does not wake up with a kiss.”

She swerved at that, stopped and said “So you think I’m pretty.”

He said in that resonant deep voice “I said Beauty.”

She nodded, considering and said “Oh. Good. Do you kiss everyone you find in the Med Bay?”

He looked at her lips and said “Hardly ever.” He thought for a moment and then said “Technically…yes. Once, I kissed everyone I found in the Med Bay.”

Her gut tightened and she said “Damn. I think I’m jealous.” She looked at his face, solemn and strained. Her head ached and she felt like a balloon pumped with too much air. About to split along fracture lines. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

He let her hands go and then said “If it causes you distress, this jealousy…”

She said tightly against dizziness “It does.” True, with no context, but absolutely true.

He said gently “Then don’t be distressed. The kiss in the Med Bay was you and only you. There is no cause for jealousy, now or before.”

Heaving waves calmed slightly. She said “And your wife?”

He said, bringing a finger to her jawline “Is you.”

She shook her head and said “But my name isn’t Vakarian?”

He said in a deep rumble close to her ear “My name is Vakarian…and Shepard.”

The knot in her gut loosened but the pound in her head got worse until she felt she was going to faint. His voice came, as it had in her dream. “Breathe.” A wave of nausea, then fear, then helplessness hit as her mind reoriented itself in the darkness and the vertigo made her closed eyes roll back in her head. 

Breathe. She reached for his hand blindly and he gave it to her, and she held on.

Breathe. Back to the water. Back to the blue. There are terrible things in the dark.

Breathe. Whoever you are, don’t fall apart. Keep it together, though you have no idea what ‘it’ is.

Breathe. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to not know for a few more minutes. Maybe stop pushing. ‘For once in your life’ he’d said.

Breathe. “When you look into an Abyss, the Abyss also looks into you.” So stop looking. Nietsche. Philosopher. Why do I know his name and not my husband’s?

Breathe. Do you believe he is your husband? I don’t know what to believe.

Breathe. Do you want it to be true? Yes.

She breathed and the crisis passed and she didn’t think she was bleeding. It was just distress, fear…and they were familiar enough. 

She said quietly “I didn’t lose my memories, did I? They were taken. That’s why I don’t know your name, and why I won’t, no matter how hard I push?”

He nodded and said “In a way. Blocked, not taken. They are there.”

She said carefully “You don’t sound so sure.”

He combed her hair between his fingertips and said “There’s no user’s manual about what happened. We’re all in the dark here. It’s not like you stubbed your toe. If your memories of me are lost, I promised myself I would give you new ones.”

She really liked the sound of that, and she said “I’m not sorry I kissed you. The headache was worth it.”

He pulled her back against his chest. She heard the smile in his voice as he said “I’m not sorry too. Besides, if you tell, I’ll say you started it.”

She scoffed “You pulled me into your lap.”

He answered lightly “You let me do it, and you started that too.”

She teased “You’re not actually considering a two-person conspiracy against mind-reading Asari, are you?”

He shook his head then nuzzled her hair “No. Just reiterating that we’re in this together. The sooner you get used to the idea, the sooner I can kiss you again.”

She considered and then said “Okay. That works for me. I did…kiss you first. And I’m really not sorry.”

He said drily “We’ve known you for a while, Morim. If they were afraid kissing you would kill you, they’d have kept me away from you longer.”

She could not fathom this. She asked “Why did they keep you away from me?”

He said lightly “Are you in any pain right now?”

She said “No…I think it means that I just can’t go reaching for information. New…or…old information causes my mind to…shift, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s all dark anyway. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He said “All right. So it seems your curiosity and worry are causing some of your anxiety? For instance, feeling like you were jealous?”

She said “Yes. Couldn’t help feeling that way. Maybe the facts are blocked, but the emotions are still there. Different part of the brain?”

He said “Yes. Okay. If you can accept some new information without trying to link it to anything, I can show you why they kept me away from you. But you have to control your heart rate. You have to keep from punching holes in your mind, okay?”

She muttered “Well, that isn’t intimidating.”

He laughed and said “Can you do it or not, Shepard?”

She narrowed her eyes and said “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

He just continued to smile, leaned back and spread his arms along the back of the couch, waiting.

She conceded partway “All right. If I ask you to stop, will you stop?”

He waved a hand “Of course. But you won’t ask. You’ll ask me to keep going and I will really want to, but I’ll have to stop.”

She raised an eyebrow and said with more sarcasm “That isn’t intimidating either.”

He prompted “Good. So say yes.”

She bit her lip slightly and considered her options. Go back to bed, no thanks. Hang in suspense, no thanks. Take a bizarre leap into dark from the dark with someone she didn’t know but kissed really well. Someone who was her husband. 

It’s intimidating.

It’s information.

If it’s like that kiss it’s worth it.

Risk. Think of it this way, you’ve got nothing to lose.

She shrugged lightly and said “Yes.”

He lifted her as though she weighed nothing, went over and locked the door to the room. Her eyes stared at him as he slid her down the door and put her on her shaking feet and wobbly knees. He loomed over her and said quietly “This is just a story. Don’t connect it to anything in your head, just hold it in that little space you own right now. Just listen.” She nodded, wondering how, but she’d try.

He lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her back against the door hard as he leaned into her. Things moved in the back of her mind, like drums in the jungle, but she didn’t reach for them. She reached for him instead, putting her arms on his shoulders, closing her eyes and tipping her head back.

He nuzzled at her neck until she turned her head to the size and then he spoke in her ear “When I met you, my first words to you were about the hope I had that you could put something right. You make things right, Morim. When I first served with you I had hoped I could be inspired by your example, and I was. You are inspiring. When you were gone for those two years, that stupid idea I had, it was because you didn’t feel you were good enough for me. Some part of you, no matter what, doesn’t feel good enough. We went through hell finding each other and now I am bonded to you. You are my mate. My body is for you.”

He took her hand and slid it inside his shirt, scratching along a ridge, and then slid her nails along her cheekbones and collarbones. “These marks are for me, from our bonding.” The drums in her head were riotous and breathing in made her dizzy and drunk. His mouth moved back to her ear and he said “You said once I smell like sex and cookies.” She whimpered and nodded, unable to find words.

He continued “I’ve been in your body and your blood for so long now that you don’t know yourself anymore without me. You lost pathways to your memories and they had to sedate you. You had to withdraw from what it feels like, us being together always. I had to watch it happen, wanting to be at your side every moment.”

He licked and nipped at her throat and she tightened her legs around him. Scary and true. No doubt it was true. Desire felt like it was condensing and dripping off her skin in warm, hypnotic drops. She had a swirling image of a dress made of liquid gold, and then it was gone. 

He returned his mouth to her ear and he nipped at her earlobe and then said “I will serve you until my will is no longer my own. You don’t know my name, and you don’t need to. When I touch you again, when I’m inside you, you’ll forget your own name. You’ll remember my name soon. I know you will. I’ll make you forget it again, and then I’ll teach it to you and taste the sound on your lips. Come back to me. I’m waiting. I need you.”

He kissed her and the truth of his words was echoed by the drums in her head, the rush of her blood. A head rush from the kiss and from the scent of him. Addiction. Withdrawal. She believed it.

She knew that even if she begged him, he wouldn’t do any more than kiss her. She couldn’t consent. He would wait until she remembered. 

She could know she was loved, and she did. Invisible but solid ground to stand on. She kissed him back and moved her hands to either side of his neck, one over the bite mark.

At the touch of her hands, he pulled back and rested his…forehead? What were the names of Turian things? What was the name of this Turian? He rested his forehead against hers, as he had before. She closed her eyes and said “It’s been a hell of a few days, huh?”

He said in a heartfelt grumble “They sucked. Don’t do it again.”

She pressed her lips together, listening to drums and said “I’ll try to remember what I did and then not do it again. I’m sorry.”

His voice sounded like he was smiling when he said “You are, but you aren’t.”

She took a deep breath and said “Yeah. That seems to be going around. Hey. Guy whose name I don’t know. Thank you.”

He stared at her face, took a deep breath, then put her on her feet on the floor and said “You’re welcome. You’re hungry. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

She didn’t need to ask if he’d stay with her. There were a number of questions she didn’t have to ask now. Regardless of what might appear to be true and what she didn’t know, she trusted him. She had faith.


	25. Chapter 25

Garrus

He brought her back to the Med Bay and delivered her to her bed. She was able to walk back, but she was still easily exhausted. Light was back in her eyes, not just the false confidence and canny manipulation that had been there hours earlier. She believed him.

He was still concerned about attempting to let her meet other people. He’d been able to distract her with the mystery of being involved with him, which was fine. More than fine. He couldn’t count on everybody in the ship having the discipline it took to not give her information she was angling toward, or to remember not to call her Commander. Javik would be able to do it, but he was more of a problem just because of who he was. She wouldn’t have access to memories about Protheans. EDI was another anomaly. He’d have to arrange some briefings and some visits. 

Nuar had offered to travel with them, and he was considering it. For now the colony was also offering their help with the Crucible and Tali was touring the facilities. That was enough of a reason to stay, resupply and plan.

So much Morim had yet to learn, things not yet revealed inside her own mind, and things that have happened since she was told the truth.

There were impossibilities to be faced. You died. You lived again. You fought Reapers. You won. You lost. You’re trying to win again. This is a Prothean. People you love have died. You are a biotic. You are Commander of this vessel. Leviathan casually ruptured your mind, which has been ruptured before. Our mother is dead. Balak killed her.

He helped her into bed, kissed her forehead and promised to go get food.

Morim said to Nuar “May I have my husband back now?”

Okay then. Garrus tilted his head toward her and said with accusing humor “You just can’t keep a secret, can you?”

She smiled and answered, not the least bit contrite “Best to face these things head on.”

Nuar smiled and said “It is good that you know, that you want. It will be easier, now that you have him with you. Spending time with him could not help but reveal to you how you cared, regardless of your memories. Some things are true and have their own language.”

Garrus leaned against a wall and said “She started it.”

Morim laughed and retorted “You finished it.”

Liara shook her head and said thoughtfully “I should have put money on it.”

Nuar shook her head slightly and said “I cannot do as you ask. You must wait. Other things must come first.”

Morim sighed, but said “Bring it on, I want my husband back.”

Garrus shrugged and said “Let me know when you remember my name.”

Morim retorted “I’m working on it.”

Garrus turned to Nuar and informed her “She remembers a conversation with Ashley Williams.”

Nuar smiled and replied “This is good. We know you will remember, Morim. We will move back through time and then forward.”

Morim said with trepidation “What do I have to do?”

Nuar reassured her, saying “You eat, and then you sleep, and then I will work.”

Morim said with relief “That sounds like something I can handle.”

Garrus raised a finger and said “Food, coming right up.”

He went and spoke to Kaidan first, and asked him to give him some food tutorials. He should have done this a while back. Kaidan had been on a ship with her for a year, knew the names of things and how to put them together. While they were going over specifics Kaidan asked “How is the Commander? I’ve been in to see her, but she’s been sleeping. Sounds like she’s awake now?”

Garrus let him know “She is. She is doing well for where she is in her recovery. She doesn’t remember any of us.”

Kaidan said cautiously “What does Liara think?”

Garrus replied “She thinks she’s going to be okay. The hardest part is over, but she has to re-assimilate her life. Some of that…is enough to choke on.”

Kaidan reiterated “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

Garrus smiled and said “Thanks. I will. This helps. If you want to come back with me, say hi, I’m going to bring people in. Just don’t feel bad that she doesn’t recognize you.” He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake, but if he was there with Kaidan, maybe he wouldn’t trip. He had earned the right to see her.

Kaidan said quietly “Thank you, Commander.”

Garrus gave him the rundown, saying “You can’t tell her my name and you can’t call her Commander.”

Kaidan laughed “Oh…no…wait, really?”

Garrus nodded “We told her I was the Commander. If that slips we’re screwed, she’d take over and who would tell her no?”

Kaidan laughed “Good point. But why your name?”

Garrus answered “She knows me as Commander Vakarian. She knows I’m her husband, but I need to know when she actually remembers me versus what she’s learned by digging it out of people’s brains.”

Kaidan considered and said “Well…that makes me nervous. What should I call her?”

Garrus informed him “I called her Ms. Shepard, then Morim.”

Kaidan chuckled “Shepard it is, I never did call her Morim. Not once …this is weird.”

Garrus agreed “So it’s a normal day.”

Kaidan raised a brow and then said “Put that way, yeah. Let me grab her a fork to go with this, and we can head over. I will try not to screw up.”

Garrus said kindly “My bet is she’ll get something out of you. Be on your guard.”

Kaidan closed his eyes, opened them and said, worried, “Okay” 

Garrus thought a moment and then said “I can’t wait to see the day when we tell her she’s a biotic. That’s going to be fun, we’ll be lucky if we don’t lose some bulkheads.”

Kaidan brightened and said “I’d like to help with that.”

Garrus considered and said “Better you than me. I’ll be there, but I can’t explain how to make things glow blue.”

They made their way to the Med Bay and Morim watched them enter. Kaidan tentatively brought her a tray. Mashed potatoes he knew, but as Kaidan had explained, most food needed to be tested for seasoning to make them palatable. Garrus could get her some seasoning dispensers so she could do it herself. Meat was harder and not recognizably human. They were in an Asari port and there was Asari meat that Kaidan said was about the best she was going to get.

Kaidan put her tray on the swing-out support and said “Here you go, ma’am, uh, Ms. Shepard.”

Garrus introduced him “Morim, this is Kaidan Alenko, he is a member of our crew. You’ve worked together.”

Morim smiled and said “Thank you for the food. I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I hope someone has explained?”

Kaidan smiled…awkwardly…part way…and tripped over some words “Yes…uh…Shepard, yes. We’re all just hoping you are back to yourself soon.”

Garrus explained “Kaidan is giving me some help with human food. He picked dinner out for you.”

Morim looked at Kaidan with a slight brow raise and said “Thank you. I’m sure it’s fine. I appreciate it.” She was subdued and tired. Kaidan was so uncomfortable he just stood there, shifting weight from one foot to the other.

Morim tilted her head and looked at Kaidan, then looked at Garrus, then looked back at Kaidan. She said drily "That bad, huh?"

Kaidan stammered.

Garrus crossed his arms over his chest and told her "You're making him nervous."

Morim raised the eyebrow fully "I'm making him nervous?" She smiled, looked at Kaidan and said "Oh, if I could get you in a room alone. Whatshisname wouldn't allow that, would he?"

Kaidan looked at Garrus and then fled.

Garrus's eyes followed Kaidan's retreat and then he said with a smile "Best outcome, really."

Morim smiled, crossed her arms over her chest like he had over his and said "I'm definitely evil."

Garrus turned back to her and said "I'm not going to argue."

He sat with her as she ate quietly and then held onto her hand as she was sedated back into a controlled sleep. 

After Nuar spent a brief time with Morim, Garrus waited. He was told that she was doing well. She would need to sleep for 8 hours, and when she woke they would attempt restoring knowledge of biotics to her, and her military training.

Thanking Nuar, he returned to Command decisions.

There was an update from Primarch Victus, who had overseen the reconnaissance of Caduceus Station. No survivors. The station’s bulkheads had been ruptured. His mother had likely suffered partially the same fate that Morim had herself, death without oxygen. Add to that the decompression of the station, she would have died faster. Station monitoring had confirmed loss of vital signs within minutes. He closed his eyes. Her body had not been recovered, but he was assured she was gone. 

Garrus was rippling with the guilt of having not protected his mother. It felt like bleeding cuts everywhere, under his plates, guilt and grief leaking from unstoppable sources. Victus was pursuing possible exploitation of the study data. Traynor and EDI were still working on locating Balak. 

What he would do when he found Balak, how he would explain it all to Morim…he had no idea. He wanted to tear Balak to pieces in cold blood. As cold as possible. He’d enjoy it most if the man were sleeping. He wanted an unfair fight. He wanted him to suffer.

He might have blamed Morim for it. It might have worked, had Morim been herself, had been there to argue, to feel responsible. Now with his bond mate struggling with her identity, he knew better, had different priorities. Perhaps he had learned something over time.

His mother had ordered him to watch over Morim, and he would. His mother would want him to be sane, would want him to care for Morim and not blame her. His mother wouldn’t have wanted ugliness, would have given her life to spare him from it, probably spent her last moments regretting pain she might cause, as Morim had. He was aware that he wouldn’t have visited his family, gone back at all, if it hadn’t been at Morim’s insistence. In ugly truth he’d abandoned his mother when he left C-Sec, and when he went to Omega. Twice. Unrepentantly. She’d given him forgiveness anyway, only asking to see him happy, giving him a way to be bonded before witnesses. 

Morim had given him back his family. Morim had saved hostages. Morim was not responsible for the results. He wouldn’t allow Balak to make her responsible.

She’d feel she was. 

He loved two women who would want him to let vengeance go, deliver Balak to authorities for questioning, find out how data was being used. 

They loved him as well. He would get a vote. Right now he got the only vote.

He took his rifle to the Battery and set up his regional targeting program, testing his sighting capabilities on virtual targets, and accuracy with virtual shots. The structure of the physical activity and mental exertion gave him just enough space to think, and not enough space to feel.

He was now in command. He could divert everything to tracking down Balak now, before the trail went cold. Measured against Morim's health, it wouldn't be done. She required his full attention. He was negligent in a few categories on that front, listing her as physically injured but not mentally incapacitated. Second in command to a Spectre with spotty communications was working out in his favor. He didn't want her relieved of command. They were staying in one place and not moving forward with other missions. They were here to garner support for the Crucible. As far as command was concerned, Leviathan was still in progress. 

How to preserve options and forward the mission…get everything done.

He considered more targets, then paused the program.

He was in command. The people he had at his command included Javik. Javik had excruciatingly vicious answers to problems. Garrus could call on Kasumi, who would find Balak for him. Garrus could put Javik in contact with Zaeed Massani. Between the two of them, every bit of information would be extracted from Balak before he was killed with extreme prejudice.

Garrus considered all of the personal choices Morim had been unable to make while in command. He understood better, the constraints against what he might personally want to do, the constraint she had felt against what she had personally wanted to do.

He was going to send Javik after Balak. It would get Javik off the ship so Morim wouldn't trip over him. Garrus didn't need to have specifics about how Javik handled Balak. As much as Garrus wanted to feel Balak's throat crushed in his own hands…Javik would ensure suffering. Enough so that perhaps Garrus didn't want to ask, didn't want to see…but he could trust in a satisfactory outcome. He wouldn't look and he'd advise Morim to do the same. Between Javik and Massani…he might almost pity Balak.

Morim had wiped out 300,000 Batarians, innocents. He would only go after one, guilty.

He thought of Morim trying to protect him from killing Dr. Saleon, killing Sidonis. Her choices could be justified, though he still didn't really agree on either. He'd shoot all three of them if she were not involved. He was past protecting, far beyond feeling guilt for loss of innocent life. He'd condemned millions to death since the Reaper invasion. He would not apologize. He wanted to have the murderer of his mother torn to painful pieces over a long period of time. 

The relative innocence of thinking, as she had with Saleon, as she had with Sidonis, that she could protect him from the experience of taking a life in vengeance was irrelevant now that he'd made enough choices in this war to cost potentially millions of innocent lives. As though it could weigh heavier upon him somehow. The first time they'd gone out he'd asked for her help with Saleon. The second time they'd gone out he asked for her help with Sidonis. The third time he could do it alone, but he had help. 

Her choices had already cost her life once, it had cost her psyche, which she likely wouldn't have survived without help. He'd put his psyche on the line to protect future victims from the likes of Balak.

Morim might be disappointed in him, but he no longer worried about argument or disagreement. Had she made a choice, he’d have abided by it. She would have to do the same and if she didn’t like it, perhaps she shouldn’t have jumped into an ocean, leaving him in command. 

He was going to delegate.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Time to practice tactics and biotics. 

She was physically better and no longer needed any help walking. Unfortunate. If he was lucky, maybe she’d get injured and he could carry her back. Now that her recovery was going so well he didn’t mind that she was confined to bed in a room where he always knew where she was. He almost smiled. He brought her to Vega and Kaidan in the shuttle bay.

Kaidan hung back but Vega came over, saying “Lola! You’re up. Ready to beat the hell out of us?”

Morim raised a brow and asked “Lola?”

Vega shrugged and said “Nickname. You just look like a Lola.”

Morim gestured at Garrus and said “What’s his nickname?”

Vega shook his head and smiled “Trying to get me in trouble with Scars here?”

Morim chuckled and answered “Couldn’t hurt to try. Do I beat the hell out of you regularly?”

Vega shook his head “Only twice so far, but you’d promised we could do it again.”

Morim held out her hands in a ‘bring it on’ gesture and said “Here’s your chance.”

Vega held his hands in a ‘Whoah’ gesture and said “Oh hell no. I break it, I buy it. This is refresher training, not sparring.”

Garrus told Vega with hope in his voice “I could always break your nose like I wanted.”

Vega walked to the mat and said “Yeah, yeah. I get it. C’mon Lola. You already know this, but let’s see what you don’t know.”

Morim stepped out on the mat and she was smiling. Vega didn’t intimidate her at all. It took only a few seconds to see why. Once he signaled to start, she knocked Vega off his feet with a controlled biotic burst and kept doing it until she had him in position, on his stomach. She had him in a choke hold with his hands immobilized in a few more seconds. She’d either been holding back every time he’d seen her fight, or something from this Leviathan deal gave her more speed and focus. Her biotics had flares of color he hadn’t seen before. Not from her, not from anybody.

She smiled back at Garrus and said “Are we good?”

Kaidan said hurriedly “I’m good. You remember how to reave?”

She nodded “Definitely.”

Kaidan said “I will take your word for it. Garrus can…ah…shit.”

Morim smiled back at Garrus, who was shaking his head, and said with a grin “Garrus can what?”

Garrus laughed. He had figured it wouldn’t last the day “Don’t sweat it, Kaidan. She was going to get it out of someone. I’m assuming that meant Garrus could take the brunt of it if he wanted to test you further. I’ll just have to rely on things nobody else knows but me.”

Morim stood up and offered a hand to Vega, who took it and stood. “So…none shall pass, is what you’re saying…Garrus. Am I allowed to call you Garrus?”

Garrus nodded “None shall pass until you answer my questions three. More fairly tales. Yes, it’s just Garrus to you.” He said it in the same tones he had used when she found him on Omega. “Though I don’t mind you calling me Commander, either. I have fond memories of you calling me Vakarian as well.”

Morim laughed and said “Damn. Questions three is going to make it harder. But not impossible.”

Garrus nodded and said “It’s not supposed to be impossible, just measured.”

Morim nodded to at Kaidan and said “So your job is clearly not as a spy.”

Kaidan shrugged “No, right now my main utility is fetching meals. Dammit.”

Morim said kindly “I appreciate it. I couldn’t find my way to the mess just yet without asking for directions, and I don’t know if that’s what is going to be on the test.” A joke, as the mess was directly outside the Med Bay.

Garrus said “The next question will be…what is your Omni Tool password?” It was still Fuck_Off_Garrus because why mess with something that works? He continued “You’re stronger than you were before. Do you know the difference? Can you tell?”

Morim considered and said “Right now I only have the knowledge of how to do it. I don’t remember doing it before. I guess that would lead to situations. Upsetting situations?”

Garrus agreed “Deeply upsetting situations, but you went through them once, you will be fine the second time around. It’s just going to take a little while. Would you mind testing out your new speed on me? I’d like to try it on. Just…without the biotics, please. I’d like you to demonstrate those to Liara… carefully… later. It doesn’t look human and it doesn’t look Asari, but she might know what they are.”

Morim said "Sure" and Kaidan and Vega backed away from the mat more than might be strictly necessary for being spectators.

She was motionless other than looking him up and down once, with a quirk to her lips. There was no play of humor or recognition in her eyes. He assumed she already knew what she was going to do because there was also no calculation. He nodded to start and she moved in quickly, no testing. He jabbed at her, and she blocked, then twisted her blocking arm around his striking arm, trapping it. Her speed was blurring and her strength was approaching his. She yanked his torso forward, swept his legs out from under him at an angle so he pitched forward. She had him down with her straddling his waist, fists on either side of his throat.

She leaned forward until her breasts were pressed against his back, and her mouth came to his ear, where she said softly "Are we good?"

He could hear Vega saying "Now I feel much better."

Kaidan said with a short laugh "I'm glad I didn't go first."

Garrus was going to respond by being in shock for a few seconds, a hard flush of blood to his skin and brain, plates bulging at the sound of her voice at his ear. Shock and then conflicting impulses; to answer her question, ask to do that again, or flip her over and see if he could hold her down. 

He took a few seconds to imagine it, kissing her until she clung to him. He wondered if she'd ever cling to him again or just shove him against a wall. Either one was good as far as he was concerned. Not with witnesses, not right now.

He wondered if she'd been holding back on strength all along. No way to really know without Morim telling him, and she might just lie for any of the multiple reasons she chose to lie.

He said calmly once he could manage it "We're good." She laughed and then he said more quietly "You don't have to get up though. This works for me."

The fists at either side of his neck opened, palms and fingers on either side of his neck lingering in strokes against his skin that made him stifle a groan. She said "Good to know, Commander" against his ear and then she was gone.

As he stood he made a promise to himself to make sure she knew what it was like to cling to him. She wanted him, he could sense it on her, around her. Maybe he'd just gotten weaker because it took so much strength to restrain himself. He could hope.

He wanted to get a read on some of her changes of personality, wanted to get as many examples of her behavior in this state as he could. She hadn't done any physical harm to him or Vega, she'd just passed whatever test they gave her as quickly as possible, no screwing around as she was accustomed to doing. She screwed around for her own reasons, he'd screw around for his.

He asked her "Let me get a baseline strength testing. For comparison purposes. Arm wrestle?"

She quirked a brow and said "Comparison? Have we done this before?"

He said sadly "No, but now I wish I had. We can do it after."

She shrugged and agreed "All right."

They dragged chairs to either side of a flat console and gave it a try. Vega and Kaidan followed them and Garrus asked them "Don't you both have something better to do?"

Vega shrugged "Nope. Cleared my schedule. Besides, that's my chair."

Kaidan said wryly "Not unless she's hungry…"

Garrus snorted and then sat down, put his elbow down and smiled at her until she put her elbow down as well. When they were ready Vega said "Go" and he started to push, she pushed back. They stayed in a wobbling strain at the top there for a few seconds. She caught his eye and dropped her shoulders slightly, just slightly and then he was able to push her hand down. She was looking at him intently, her back was to Kaidan and Vega, and she pushed back against his hand, holding it still and gaining a little ground, while Kaidan and Vega were rooting for her. Then she dropped her shoulder again and let him push her hand down, which he did slowly. He stared at her for a moment and Kaidan and Vega finally took the hint and walked away. Vega muttering "Too much to hope, I guess."

She watched him in return and he let her hand go. He said "Thanks."

She nodded.

He offered "Let's go test weapons proficiency."

She grinned and said "Now that sounds like fun."

He'd picked up her weapons and brought them for maintenance in the Battery, where he led her and set her up with some simulations.

He observed "You're quiet."

She nodded "Seems this is a serious place for serious people. I just want to get through this, get back to who I am. Though it seems I may not be pleased."

He nodded "There's a lot to be not pleased about. But it's not about you, it's about the situation. Why did you throw the arm wrestle?"

She shrugged and then said "You want information, I can give it to you. I trust you. But I don't know those guys, I don't know your relationship to them, I don't know my relationship to them. I'll tell you, but I don't have to advertise it. I imagine if I lied about my strength or if I have a lot of new strength, there'd be a reason to hide it or you wouldn't have asked. Pulling you off balance to win a fight is one thing, flat out overpowering you is another."

He asked "Could you overpower me?"

She shrugged and said "I don’t think so. I'm strong and I'm fast, but I don’t have any other context. It's like all my training was done with faceless dummies and combat simulators. I don’t feel any way or the other about it, but tactically I'm nervous putting it all out there."

He nodded and said "When you're back to yourself you'll be back out in the field."

She sighed heavily and said "Yes, I know, you can't tell me what field. Garrus."

He chuckled and said "A field where you need to shoot and fight. I will be there with you. I've been there with you."

She nodded at the gun and the simulation he was setting up "All right, Commander, let's see what you've got."

He tilted his head and said "This isn't mine, this is yours. Mine's the Widow." He gestured to the monster gun.

She raised a brow "Really. Let's see what you've got with that. Can I try?"

He shrugged and said airly "You could, but that's not your favorite. Too slow. You lack patience."

She twisted her lip and said "Yeah, I do think I could have figured that out about myself."

He picked up the Widow and hooked up the simulation controls "I just beat you recently at a shootout, so I can be smug and you get to practice." He ran through 20 targets, 20 down, 42 seconds.

He handed her the gun and she laughed, hefting it. Starting the simulation she ran through 20 targets, 19 down…and then she pointed up and missed the last one. 39 seconds. She said “You sure I didn’t fake letting you win?”

He laughed low and said “No, no, no, you can’t take that away from me. You’re just trying to fuck with me.”

She shrugged, handed him back the rifle and said “Okay, if you say so. I’m sure I’d never, ever have fucked with you.”

He closed his eyes and said “No. No, it won’t work. I will confirm that you are evil.”

She pressed her lips and then said “I’m pretty sure I figured that out for myself also. Give me my actual gun, I’ll be impatient with it.”

20 targets down, 35 seconds.

She looked at the gun and said “It’s got grooves I’ve worn into it that fit my fingers and I don’t remember it.”

He said quietly “You will.”

She looked up at him and said “No doubt. But then I will be gone, and I’ll be someone else. Someone with a past and a life.”

He tilted his head “And a future.”

She looked at him and said “A past I need to be shielded from and a future that involves killing people.”

He nodded “It is what you chose.”

She narrowed her eyes “Are you sure? Or did it choose me? I just want to read a book or something, and I can’t.” She held up her hand “Omni Tool disabled because I might learn something.”

He considered a moment and said “I could read you a story.”

She rested her head against the wall and said “Do you have any idea…how weird this all is?”

He tilted his head and shrugged and said “Yup. And it gets weirder. We were going to spend a few hours working on your fighting skills, how about we just…don’t do that and do something else.”

She considered and then said “Well, at least I won’t forget it. Hopefully.”

He said “Hey, I can do my awkward impression. It’s me, but just a few years ago. So we can meet each other for the first time again.”

She smiled and closed her eyes, then tilted her head back “Awkward off, huh? How awkward do I get on a scale of 1-10?”

He Turianed his voice up, got more formal “Who, you? You, Shepard? You’re a one on that scale. No, wait. A zero. Wait, can we use negative integers? What about imaginary numbers? I could draw up a chart…” He sounded painfully earnest and helpful.

She pressed her lips together and said “What would I say in answer to that? I feel like a negative imaginary number.”

He thought a moment and said “First you’d just look at me as though I was crazy but you understood, sort of. There, yes, like that. Perfect.”

She started to laugh and said “So I’m patronizing?”

He considered “Well, yes…though I haven’t been properly patronized, disarmed, redirected or lied to lately. I miss it.”

She said regretfully “Well, if it helps, I have lied to you.”

He shrugged and said “It is to be expected. Information is power, you want it.”

She looked at him, considering, and said “I don’t remember you. I know it’s planned that way and I can’t, but I don’t remember you and I don’t know that I gave you the mark on your neck. I’m sorry.”

He snorted briefly, and then said “Well…you did.” He stepped forward and pointed to the crack on the plating and paint on his nose “You also gave me this.”

She squinted and said “I broke your nose?”

He laughed and said “Oh yeah. And my knee.”

She whistled low “What did you do to deserve that?”

He grinned and said “Accused you of lying and pushed for the truth.”

She grimaced and then said “Was I lying?”

He tilted his head “Not exactly. You were withholding the truth though. It mattered to me.”

She asked tentatively “Did I tell you?”

He responded “You did. It just took a little effort and a joint. This will take some effort, but you can keep your knees.”

She shrugged and said “I feel I should at least…offer an elbow or something.”

His voice was solemn “You’ve offered enough.”

She looked at him and said “When was the last time you got some sleep?”

He stopped to think and then said “Thirty-seven hours.”

She asked “Is it okay for a Turian to be up that long?”

He tsked and said “Not really. I should get some sleep, but I don’t want to miss anything.”

She said, bargaining “Okay. You were going to test my proficiency. I’m tested. Get some rest. Please.”

He took a deep breath in and then let it out. He rubbed his eyes and said “You are doing so well, you’re so very close to being back to yourself and I don’t want to miss any of it. I don’t want to sleep until I can do it with my arms wrapped around you. I don’t think I can rest on my own. I could sleep, but I’d wake up tired. Not to be dramatic, but it does have to do with being bonded, knowing you are near. I can hang on longer than a human.”

She asked “After that long without sleep, how much sleep do you need?”

He shrugged and said “Four is the most I usually get. Even one or two hours would make a difference.”

She nodded and said “Where do you usually sleep?”

He laughed and said “We have a cabin, but I can’t take you there, too many reminders, too many opportunities for you to be you and make me too nervous to sleep.”

She pressed her lips together and said “If I promise to behave?”

He stretched and said “I would not believe you.”

She tilted her head and said “Okay, that’s fair. I haven’t known me for very long, but if there’s sufficient temptation…”

He chuckled and said “Yes, and we’re not even talking about my body.”

She lifted a brow and said “Well, don’t count yourself out yet.”

He smiled appreciatively and said “You’re right, though. I lost a knee last time I got this close to exhaustion.”

Her brows drew together and she said “Look, I understand that you can’t trust me to hold still and that you wouldn’t be able to rest. Would you agree to sleeping in front of witnesses? I’ve got a bed in the Med Bay and I’ve got nothing to do for a few hours. I could be watched and you could hold on to me and you could get some sleep.”

He considered and then said “Well…on one condition.”

She looked skeptical and said “What?”

He said solemnly with a little mock pleading “Let me carry you there. It’ll be romantic.”

She stepped up and held her arms out to her sides in surrender “For the intimidating gentleman with the big gun, anything.”

He grinned and said “You are sounding more and more like yourself all the time.”

She laughed and he lifted her off the floor. He said “Okay, do this right. Put your arms around me.”

She did and he groaned and said “Oh, this is hard. This is good, but this is hard.”

She leaned up to kiss him and he drew in a fast breath, then tightened his arms around her, pulled her in closer, and lost himself in tasting her. His claws were itching to spring free, to mark her. He poured the teasing frustration into her, nipping at her lips and then rubbing against the side of her face, tasting the skin at her neck. He flicked his mandible outward and traced her jawline with it. He said “It’s a good thing we’re going to have witnesses. My sleeping body is going to have ideas.”

She murmured against his throat “We could stay here and get reacquainted. I don’t mind.”

He groaned against her neck and said “Stop. Can’t. You’re evil. Thank you for clinging to me, though. It’s a lovely touch.”

She laughed and tipped her head back, breathing hard, and he carried her to the Med Bay. Morim explained “He’s tired. He needs rest. He doesn’t trust me to not go secret agent, so he’ll sleep here with me. He doesn’t want to miss anything.”

He just nodded, heading to an empty bed, pulling the curtain around it and saying “Four hours. Everything can start again in four hours.”

He put her gently on the narrow bed and gestured for her to roll on her side, which she did, a smile on her lips. He slipped in behind her, muscles aching and mind screaming for rest on his terms. His sternum blade pressed to her spine and he pulled her ass back against him with a soft growl. He kissed her on the back of the neck and then moved his mouth to her ear. “Mine. Stay.”

She said lightly “Have I ever told you that you’re kinda bossy?”

He responded “Not often enough. Say ‘Good night Commander.’”

She lilted “Good night Commander.”

He growled softly and kissed the back of her neck, then drew his hand to his shoulder, painting her with his scent, down the bridge of her nose, along her jawline, along her cheekbones. Take Vakarian markings, Venri. You are mine.

He whispered in her ear that he loved her, and accepting that she would be safe in his arms, fell asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

Shepard

She listened as Liara explained, but didn't really believe it. She said "So…I jumped into an ocean in a recently-defunct mech and ended up having a conversation with a creature that's been around for years in numbers that I can't fathom. Is that what you're saying, or is this a test so that I can call you on bullshit later?"

Liara smiled "Not a test."

Garrus piped in "I asked you not to do it."

Morim looked at him and said "Asked? Why didn't you order me to not do it?"

Garrus shrugged and said "Extenuating circumstances."

Morim sighed and said "And that's why my head's messed up? Too much fruit in the bowl and it all tipped over?"

Liara agreed "Yes, essentially that. We tried to keep it all from all running out your ears and soaking into the ground."

Morim bit her lip "Well. Thanks for that. At least while I was down there, did I get something done that was worth doing?"

Garrus answered her "It's classified for now, but yes. You got something done, including saving the lives of the landing party and potentially many others. As that's your job on a daily basis, there wasn't that much special about it other than the brain exploding thing. You've had worse days."

Morim considered and said "So now I have their…what…not memories, but strategies in my head? That's why my biotics are different?"

Liara nodded and said "Yes. I am a natural biotic, you are an implanted biotic, but I believe the Leviathan species just…knew more about it, and now so do you. Nonverbal knowledge. I can't tell you how you're doing what you do. Karin believes you are physically and mentally the same as you were before, the difference lies in memory and strategy. The way you have acted after coming back up has introduced what I'd call efficiencies. You're tuned differently. You're using what you inherently have to greater advantage. You will need to speak to the Leviathan again at some point, maybe you could ask…but I'd avoid further demonstrations."

Morim's eyebrows drew together "I have to talk to them again?"

Garrus said in reassurance "Just for coordination purposes."

Morim closed her eyes "Oh. Awesome. Can't wait."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus was telling her what the next step was in her 'what's behind door number 3' process of memory rehab.

She said skeptically "Reapers? Isn't that a little dramatic?"

Garrus said "Not really. Not if you've met a Banshee."

She rubbed her temples and said "What's a Banshee?"

Garrus said solemnly "An indoctrinated Asari."

He showed her a picture and she felt her gut clench. Monsters. They fought monsters. She observed "And all humans get are husks, huh? We're not all that special, it seems."

He was being informative, but she wanted to throw up as he explained that husks were made from Dragon's Teeth and being impaled, while other processes made indoctrinated humans who retained more function.

She said quietly "Oh. Yay." She thought a moment and said "Every day I spend trying to get back to myself, people are dying."

He said calmly, his voice soothing in ways she couldn't quantify "Yes. People are dying. We can't…and haven't…saved everybody, but we have saved more lives than I can count."

She looked at him and said "So as soon as I am back to myself, I'm going to be doing things that likely get me killed on a minute to minute basis?"

He answered "Yes. But you have always believed those things worth doing."

She pulled in a deep breath through her nose "Yes, that I can believe. Can we hurry this up here? Have I lost anybody new while I was gone?"

His steady stare answered her question before he said "Yes. We have both lost someone new. There's no way I can prepare you for what happened, but you need to know that I do not hold you responsible."

She took a deep breath and said "I live an ominous life."

He looked at her, his face unreadable and he said "It's coming up, take a little while to absorb this. You died."

She jerked her head to stare at him, thinking it was a joke. His face and voice were not looking as though anything was funny. "I died? Like 15 minutes out on a surgery table?"

He shook his head "No, you died as in you were spaced with no oxygen and it took two years and several billion credits to restore you to living."

She dropped her head and closed her eyes. The familiar thrumming in her head came back, a mild headache. She wasn't as disoriented as she had been, she had more context and more support than when she first woke…but…she said "Dead? So you're right. I have had worse days. But I didn't die this time, just the once?"

He answered "Close to dead this time, seizures, but not actually dead. Thanks for not dying again. First time was rough."

She caught up and said "So I left…I left your service and my hiatus was…"

He continued her sentence "When you died."

She felt hollow and dizzy "Oh. Well. At least I had a good reason. Based on my head, that's…that's enough for now. Let me…try to wrap my head around this."

He agreed and looked as though he were about to leave her alone and she said "Would you please…stay. Unless…you have something Commander-ey to do, then I understand. Having you around gives me a stable point, it's easier for me to navigate."

He walked over to her and sat next to her on the edge of the Med Bay bed, then turned to the side, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to the side as well. His fingers pressed into the muscles of her shoulders, and she groaned as she felt the strain melt from her. Her head dropped forward and she said "How do you do that? That's some quality stress there and you're making it go away."

He said with a voice that sounded like he was concentrating "I have had some practice. I'm afraid the first time I mostly just added bruises. You've got this skin weave thing and it's hard to get the right amount of pressure."

She laughed and said "Oh hell, I have skin weave. Sounds like a disease."

He kept pressing with his fingertips and said "No, that's scale itch. Fortunately we dodged that bullet."

She said quietly "I am terrified."

He didn't change the pace of his hands "I know. It's always there. You have good reason to be terrified. You just don't let it stop you."

She answered softly “Unless I die.”

She heard him draw in a heavy breath and he said just as softly “Unless you die.” His fingers dug into her muscles and she flinched and groaned at the pain until it gave way to melting. He said “How long until your next brain dump? Er…wait. That came out wrong.”

She laughed “Yeah, let’s try that again.”

He rephrased “Uh…how long until your next procedure?”

She tilted her head to the timekeeper, her Omni Tool was still defunct “About two hours I think. I think I’m done studying for now. Seems like with the next batch, ick comes out to play.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet and said “Yes, you get to learn all about Reapers and what we’re up against. Going to be loads of fun.” He pulled her out the door of the Med Bay and she followed him, asking no questions, just grateful to be out from under all of the watchful eyes except for his. The fish bowl was getting to her. He brought her back into the Battery, where they’d done some shooting simulations, and he shut the door behind them. He vaulted over the barriers and lifted her over, moving back into the dark. He sat down against the back wall and indicated that she sit leaning back against him. She gratefully did it and then felt a deep sigh leave her as she sat and let her head fall forward. He resumed his massage and she relaxed even further. He said “Better?”

She nodded and said “It is just getting to me, all the stares and glances and names I don’t know, people that know me that I don’t know. I don’t know who to be. It is wearing on my mind. I’m torn between making the most of each moment and sleeping until it’s done.”

He listened and then answered “What would be making the most of each moment in this case?”

She considered and then said “I don’t know. Paintball? Chase each other around the ship, make something wacky happen that results in a small but not irreparable panic? People are tense, man.”

He laughed and said “Paintball? What is that?”

She warmed to her subject “It’s really guns with paint pellets, you can tell you’ve been shot by the splatter of color. I know we could do it with lasers and targeting, but paint pellets just sound frivolous and retro and since I have no present or future, I have a lot of other people’s history in my head.”

He agreed and said “You made waffles for the ship once.”

She groaned and said “Oh, man, I would kill for a waffle.”

He laughed and said “So how much do you want to run off this ship as fast as you can, look for a life pod and just take off?”

She laughed and shook her head “About 27%. It wavers in intensity. Right about now I’m happy to stay, though I’m still terrified. Later after you’ve given me all your horrifying warnings and serious faces, and I get to find out why I’m worth billions of credits, I’m going to want to run. Worse, I’m going to have to stay based on not wanting, but needing.”

He sighed dramatically “So it’s not just me. Half the time…no, more than half, I just want to find a cave to hide inside with you. I’m not sure what we’d live on, less in the way of waffles and more in the way of dirt and exciting fungus.”

She sighed and said “We could fail to light a fire, do a lot of swearing, get lost…”

He said dreamily “I could think I’m going to hunt our dinner, then fall into a ravine, heroically drag myself out, promise to never tell anyone, finally find something half dead already…”

She warmed to the topic “And then we could both discover it made us violently ill. Romantic. We could look into each other’s eyes in our final moments, thinking…”

He continued “Why the fuck did we do this and who thought it was a good idea…”

She answered “It was you. It was your idea. We’re going to die hungry and cold and it was your idea.”

He sighed and said “At least my broken leg won’t hurt anymore.”

She giggled for a little while and then had a snort at the end of it, which made him laugh. He said “You make the weirdest noises. Snorts and snores. I’d never heard such things before you.”

She smiled “You don’t snore, you just sort of purr. It’s…really nice.”

He nuzzled her neck “Whereas you drool.”

She said quietly “I don’t know what to do or what to say. I know memory used to be like rivers, that led places, tributaries and oceans, and right now I only have a bunch of doors with labels, doors I can’t open. I’m standing in a long hallway of labeled doors and it is dark at the end.”

He pulled her back against him and said “All right then, let’s just decorate the hall a bit, or make a door you can open. Caves don’t work, we’ve discovered, so just pick something else. How about some place tropical?”

She thought and said “Some place tropical with waffles. What is it that you do for fun, Garrus?”

He sat thinking for a while and then said “You know, I’m not sure Turians are built for fun. I’m not sure I had much of it. We’re good at satisfaction, and eventually in your company I got good at snark, but fun…I’m not sure we’ve had as much fun as joy. You’ve brought joy to my life. When I was the most joyous was our wedding. Do you want to see?”

She said carefully “I can see? I won’t get a bag over my head and get whisked away to a secondary location?”

He chuckled against her ear, sending flares of sensation down her spine “Not unless you ask nicely.”

She bit her lip and said “Okay. Yeah. Let’s see.”

She watched the recording on his Omni Tool, the amnesiac sense of weird playing out again as she watched herself, watched him in silence. No words. She watched and he paused it right as he dropped to his knees.

He said in her ear “You might see someone different from you there, but it is still you. There is nothing you have to do or be in this moment. Who you were then and who you are now and who you will be in the future, I was there for you, I will be here for you, I will be there for you. I want more than I want to breathe to show you with my body, but I can’t. You mentioned the difference between want and need, and that’s why we’re not in that cave right now. Turn your mind from apprehension to anticipation. You survived. It’s a miracle that you survived, and we did it with the team on this ship and some more help from others that felt indebted to you. Nuar credits you for saving her life, and you’d never met her. You will not be sorry to be who you are. I promise you.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

While Morim underwent her more delicate sleep work of linking together memories relating to the rest of her life, possibly restoring all of her to them, to him, he received a compliance report from Javik. Based on Kasumi’s intel, Javik had taken the shuttle to the Citadel and met Zaeed there. Kasumi had noted Balak on several camera interfaces near the docks. 

The report read: “Balak is dead, along with several Batarians harboring him. He ultimately shared his regrets regarding his actions, which I am relaying to you. I have forwarded all data wrested from the Batarians to Primarch Victus. I relay my gratitude for the opportunity.”

Garrus felt a dual-toned shiver of imagination regarding what Zaeed and Javik had done combined with gratitude.

It was done. Their mother was gone. Morim would be well. He would tell her.

Her returned to Javik “You have my gratitude for the completion of a task best suited to your discretion.”

At least he didn’t have to wonder if Balak suffered. Suffered wasn’t a strong enough word.

Victus had been able to reach his father and sister, to inform them of their loss. Direct communication wasn’t possible. Solona had passed the danger point of possibly losing her leg and was recovering. His father was coordinating shelter and food.

Garrus had a wealth of cold anger and purpose, his vengeance on Balak had not done him harm, but had given him a sense of completion, to not be denied a prize. Saleon had deserved a bullet, Sidonis had deserved a bullet, but Balak had deserved Javik. He wasn’t Garrus or Vakarian and he wasn’t even Archangel any more, he was Garrus Shepard. Tempered and sundered and scarred. He’d learned from Garrus not to be too earnest or too rash. He’d learned from Archangel not to be too hard and cold. He wasn’t in the middle. He was those tempered modes, chosen when needed.

His choices being different from Morim’s didn’t mean he didn’t respect her choices. Now he knew she would also respect his, and that gave him new space in his mind. His doubts about his leadership skills were gone. Morim had lost people under her command, had lost herself, and when she had regained herself she had just kept going, flaws and all, not afraid of showing her flaws, just trying not to flaunt them.

He’d learned.

They were far past being upset or angry at each other and having that unsettle their relationship. He had opened paths to more Turian ways of doing things. In some ways he had come to realize he was an excellent Turian. He was clear on what he thought Turians should be, and now in the position to demand it from those following his orders. He’d also now held her command and done well at it. He’d reclaimed his culture, reclaimed his command. Concerns of adequacy would ring hollow. He understood her pressures and her placements. He’d made the right choice, years ago, being inspired by her, but not trying to be her.

At the end of the long days and missions, if they were both alive at the end of those days, they would find each other when they could, seeking comfort, seeking calm, seeking the unique reasons to live they’d forged together.

She was going to have to absorb all of herself in a day, and he was learning to take it more minute by minute. More tempered extremes taken simultaneously.

He would have her back and he would keep her as safe as she let him, and everything else that would happen, would happen, and some day they would die.

Not today. What mattered is that it would not be today. Somebody else died today and he was fiercely glad of it.

He knew to breathe, to time each shot, to hold still in each moment and stay calm while the front line advanced. He just needed to apply that to a longer time scale, apply the patience he had learned in combat to patience with her, with his body’s clamoring for her, with circumstance.

He might be married to a Leviathan.

Breathe.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She felt the gentle and persistent presence of Nuar, now familiar. Nuar assured her that there was no need to feel about what she saw, what she remembered. Morim had been emotionally sedated, to decrease friction in the process. Nuar reassured her that she was strong enough to bear all that had happened, but she had already suffered the first time. This time was for restoration, not assimilation. 

She watched with Nuar, detached and curious, as her life roared back through her mind, resurgent and assertive, breaking through all weakening barriers.

Life on Earth. Brutal. Cold. Painful. Frightening. Lonely. Harsh, with the knowledge that she had told nobody how harsh. She’d paved it over, the base for her determination, her motivation. Get off the streets, get off the dirt.

“If”

Training. Disciplined. Painful. Rewarding. Finally, something rewarding. Suffering wasn’t mindless, it had a purpose. Training with biotics was like a flower of plasma blooming from her core, finally realized, opening like Chakras, realized like magic. This was the lethality she held under her skin, it came when she called, her first real companion that would be with her throughout her life. Something that wouldn’t be taken from her the way a gun could be disarmed.

“Invictus”

Missions. Disciplined. Painful. Losses. Gains. The faces of lovers and friends resolved and dissolved in her mind. Strength built and strength broken. Crying and screaming and aimed like a rocket at the heart of whatever needed to be resolved.

Power. She was given more and she soaked it in like a sponge, retaining it and taking it in and making it a part of her until it wouldn’t be taken from her. Alienation from people, who wanted to run with power like sweat. Learning the ways of power, learning the ways of loss and aiming. Learning that math is always projected into the future. I lose someone who volunteered to lose so that I can save innocent life. Sometimes I fail. It is not about me winning but it is about someone else living. I win. I lose. People die. People live. I do the best I can with what I have and sometimes I fail. Sometimes I don’t.

Jeanne D’Arc

Prothean beacon. Mind seared, split, forced. A passenger in her mind, bound to grab the wheel at intervals.

Normandy.

Home.

Garrus.

HOME.

Memories flooded by and she let them slip by unattended. 

Garrus.

Oh, Spirits, Garrus.

Memoires tried to swamp her and she ignored them, seeking along that path. 

Garrus.

Eyes and hands and rifle. Voice and strength and argument. Images of children with blue eyes and red hair, plates and skin and freedom.

Why. This is why. Those children and other people’s children. Finally why.

This is why you fight now. This is why you never run and why you only hide in his arms. A child, holding your hand, taking a first step toward him. If you can’t have it, there is going to be a reason, and you will make sure other people can have it.

Breathe. She shut down tears and imaginary children, the flow of memory threatening to overwhelm her. She breathed. Get it done so she could see Garrus, remember everything.

She watched her life flow around and through her, soaking significance and purpose and meaning into her mind.

She felt Nuar’s touch, briefly pausing to aid support.

You are a mother, Shepard. Garrus is a father. Children have lived and been born because of you. It is what parents do, watch over their children, allow for them to live, taking no credit. Never doubt it.

Thank you.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself against the battering of memory. 

The shocks and horrors and mistakes piled up on top of each other.

She remembered dying. Thankfully she didn’t relive it.

She remembered waking up.

Compression of time left her stunned and not even braced for each shock, permanently shocked, absorbing more in each moment. She could feel Nuar’s presence like a cushion, shields, keeping her from reacting. She was able to assimilate and get back to where she had been before…

Leviathan.

This she didn’t know, hadn’t remembered, had only touched in the water of her dreams.

Her dreams had never been of water before, the endless time flow of will and persistence.

Will and persistence, for eons. Her mind reached differently, retrieved differently, stored differently than it had. So much space, so much time, oceans and eons and patience.

The knowledge had been a gift. She understood it now, a gift that she had rejected, misunderstanding. Not only had the Leviathan granted her assistance in the fight, they had granted her assistance personally. She hadn’t been able to manage it, cold and exhaustion and pressure sickness had overwhelmed her and she had failed to understand.

She understood now. Acceptance was what was required. Rejection would result in failure.

She’d needed her team to achieve acceptance.

Her children. Her mate. Her purpose.

She smiled, energized and ready.

Nuar’s presence rippled through her mind with approval. Nuar asked if she would accept another gift.

Yes.

Nuar responded – From your mate. I gave to him what it is you wished for him to understand, he wished for you to understand this.

Fierce waves of protective love washed through her, directly poured into her heart and mind. Things she’d seen in his eyes and heard in his voice and hadn’t doubted but hadn’t either felt this strength directly. Not desire, not something he wanted for himself. Not about pleasure or duty. About the rightness of waves on the shore, about the rightness of beating of a heart. Something necessary to continued living. The difference between living as he had on Omega, on instinct and spite. She made him live with purpose. That’s how he loved her. That’s what he wanted her to know, needed her to know. Her burdens were his, he wished to carry them as he wished to carry her body. He wanted to cradle her in her sleep, fend off nightmares. Make her smile, make her melt when she laughed. Make her cry out his name under his hands. No level of infirmity would take her from him, she would never fail him. He would always choose to serve her.

Chosen purpose.

Venri.

Morim told Nuar – Thank you. Where is he?

Nuar responded – He is safe, he is here, waiting. Liara wishes to be assured that my work has been in your service.

Morim told her – It was. From my heart, thank you.

Nuar lifted her fingers and Liara’s replaced them.

Liara vibrated joy through her contact and Morim asked if she passed inspection. A few moments of Liara’s fingers and presence and Morim was kissed on the forehead, a tear falling beside the press of her lips.

Liara lifted her fingers and Morim sat up and hugged Liara, and Liara said “Welcome back, ai’a me.” 

Morim held her tighter and said “Thank you, dearest friend.”

Liara turned her by the shoulders to face Garrus, who was standing, quietly watching, motionless.

Seeing him was transformative, lighting up all the parts of her that had been dark, suspected but now fully appreciated. She stepped up to him and saluted, saying “Commander Vakarian.”

He said nothing for a moment, and then saluted in return “Ms. Shepard.”

She said solemnly “Reporting for duty.”

He responded “That’s good. You’ve been negligent. Sloppy work.”

Her lips twitched and then she said “I’ll try to learn my lesson and do better in the future, sir.”

He raised a brow plate “It’s almost like you think it’s funny.”

She shrugged and said “I have a very strange sense of humor.”

Garrus looked behind her to Liara and said “Is she all there?”

Liara nodded and said “As far as I can tell.”

Garrus looked Morim up and down once and said “All right, I’ll see what I can do to verify that.”

Morim stayed at parade rest. He was the Commander. This was no longer her ship. She wasn’t eager to get it back. She would be patient. She was so overwhelmingly grateful to be back to herself and to him for getting her there safely, he could lead.

Garrus looked at her and said “I really like her this way. Good work.”

Liara laughed and Nuar smiled and Karin just looked proud.

Garrus nodded to the ladies and asked Morim “Are you hungry or thirsty? Do you need any rest?”

Morim shook her head and said “No, sir. Ready for debriefing.”

Garrus tilted his head and said “Long overdue. Do you remember the way to our cabin?”

Morim tilted her head and said “I think I could find my way there.”

Garrus nodded and said “Excellent. I’ll follow you.”

Morim made her way to the elevator and gestured for him to come in, and he turned and waited patiently until she hit the right button and made it to their cabin. When the cabin door didn’t open to her biometrics he explained “I temporarily disabled your biometrics and now it requires a password. It’s the same as your Omni Tool.”

Morim paused and entered “Fuck_Off_Garrus” into her Omni Tool and also the door. She went in and then he stayed behind, reauthorizing her biometrics. She tapped on the cage for Boo and admired her fish. “Thank you for feeding them.”

He walked into the cabin, staying on the landing above the steps. He said a formal “You are welcome.” 

Details. He was good with details. Her mind was whole because he was good with details. She would let him do this his way. He still wasn’t sure she was herself. There were so many new parts to her, she wasn’t sure he was wrong. They certainly had to be concerned that she could be a Leviathan pawn at this point. Having command returned to her was not a certainty. As long as he kept her with him, she didn’t care at this point. He looked at her. He was thinking but he was also drinking her in, the way she was drinking him in. Enough in this moment to talk, to get back to each other after such a distance.

He asked her “What was the name of the shuttle on the original Normandy?”

She responded “Mako.”

Questions came faster “What’s the name of the shuttle now in the bay on this Normandy?”

She answered “Kodiak.”

He requested solemnly “What is the name of Thane Krios’s wife?”

She answered “Irikah.”

He waited a moment, then asked neutrally “Who took hostages during the attempt to destroy Terra Nova?”

She’d become over sensitized to that particular sense of neutrality in his voice and she was on alert but she answered “Balak Ka’hairal.”

His voice was soft “What did my mother ask you to call her?”

Morim blinked and then said “Lineem.”

Garrus nodded and said “Do you feel like yourself? Is there anything I should know about how you feel now?”

Her mind was racing around his questions, but she had chosen to follow the path he marked out very carefully. She suspected he was asking her if her feelings for him had changed along with everything else and he was giving her a chance to tell him. Understandable and terrifying. She said calmly “There is a lot of Leviathan in my head now, but it’s something I can work with. I believe overall it will be a boost in efficiency, as Liara suspected. If there are any other changes, I will let you know. Beyond that, no.”

His shoulders appeared to relax, just slightly, but the tension in his face remained. He said “Morim, I told you that we lost someone new. As a matter of command and of personal concern, I need you to know that our Avah, your Lineem, is dead.”

Tears sprang to her ears, but putting this in command, military terms, tightened her jaw. She said “What happened?”

His eyes held hers and his voice was calm, again of the military bearing that was protecting them both “Balak Ka’hairal ordered an attack on Caduceus station under the guise of a Blood Pack attack. Traynor identified the signal. Avah died when the station integrity was ruptured.”

Morim said softly “Where is Balak now?”

Garrus told the rest of the story “I asked Kasumi to locate him, which she did. He was with refugees on the Citadel. I dispatched Javik and requested help from Zaeed in order to resolve the issue. Javik is on his way back. He has assured me of Balak’s ultimate regret and subsequent death. Javik relayed all collected information to Primarch Victus regarding research stolen and mercenary activities.”

Morim’s legs threatened to give out, but she held them by force of will, though they still trembled. Time passed as she struggled to absorb this, of all the information she’d taken in today.

It was her fault. Garrus would not want her to feel it was her fault. Not after this. He could have simply not told her. It explains why he didn’t want to touch her right now, or at least that he wouldn’t touch her until she knew.

She swallowed and then said “Thank you for informing me, Commander. How do you want me to feel about this?” She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as she said it. She wanted to know how he felt, wanted his input on how she was feeling, but it came out cold. She shook her head and said “That’s…wait, that’s not what I mean. I am not being sarcastic. I’m not being cold. I’m genuinely asking…how you want me to feel, because it matters. I’m grateful to be back to me, I’m grateful to see you, I’m horrified Avah is dead, I…do not disapprove of your actions. I wish I had thought of Javik myself, that was brilliant and I do not know how I feel, except too much.”

Garrus stepped in front of her and tipped her chin up and she was looking into blue. She saw that reflected understanding of command that he wanted her to see. He was not only assuring that she was herself, but that he’d done his job and her job while she was gone. He said with the warmth she was accustomed to hearing in his voice, a relief after waking and having only Commander Vakarian, to be back to Garrus “Venri, I want you to allow me to make the decision and bear that weight for you. It is what she would want, it is what I want. Grieve, but do not blame anyone but Balak for his own death.”

Morim asked “Who do you blame?”

His hand came to cradle the back of her neck and she was grateful for the support and warmth and that he wasn’t unwilling to touch her. He said earnestly and with emphasis “Not. You.”

The look in his eyes, the choices he’d made, she said “Commander Vakarian, I would follow your orders, and I will honor the times you’ve had to go alone into hell without me. You have always been there for me, and I have not always been there for you. If you could forgive me for that. Thank you for your honesty, for trusting me, I haven’t always deserved it, but I will try to deserve it in the future.”

His eyes searched her face and he asked as though in disbelief “This was vengeance, Morim, you understand that?”

She answered “Yes.”

He expected her to continue but she waited for him to ask “You’re not angry at me? You don’t think less of me?”

She drew her brows together and said “Garrus…no. This is…oh…let me think.” She closed her eyes and took a few breaths, trying to get it right and said “You are…and have always been…on the side of right. Black and white, that’s how you put it, what I saw. I’m more…I’m more grey. I asked you to stop with Sidonis and I asked you to stop with Saleon because I couldn’t push you into the dark. Do you understand? I was your commanding officer, I gave you my guidance. I could influence you, make you think that dark was what I condoned. They both deserved to die, Balak deserved to die, hell even Harkin deserved to die. It was not for them, it was for you, to keep you where I thought you wanted to be, in the light. You might have hated me for asking me to do it my way…but I would never have hated you for doing it your way. I wanted to protect you and there are some things I can’t protect you from when you are in command. That’s the way command works. You know that now. You are beyond my influence now, you have command of your own. You do what you do and you deal with the consequences. It is done. I will not be a consequence. I would never have been a consequence, Garrus. I would never have made you pay. I wouldn’t let them make me feel any differently about you. You took this ship, everyone followed you. In command you have to take it and make it yours, and that was yours. You will die a good man, Garrus, you are not going to change. Even when I died, you almost got yourself killed, but you didn’t do it by becoming a slaver or an abuser of people. You tried to protect people. That’s you, Garrus, you’re doing it every day. I don’t expect…don’t want…you to be me. You’re not under my command now except for by your own choice.”

He responded by yanking her off her feet, lifting her by the waist, other hand behind her neck, kissing her with voracious heat and force, pushing her head back, sliding his tongue into her mouth. 

That was clearly the right answer.

She kissed him back, bringing one hand behind to caress the skin at the back of his head, dragging her fingers along the Kinril’s path, one hand covering the bite mark on his neck. She said against his mouth “Debriefing over?”

He said shortly between kissing her “Oh, no, just starting.”

She laughed and then made a soft squeaking sound as he squeezed his arm around her waist “You’re my commanding officer, this is harassment.”

He moved his mouth to bite at her throat and said “Right now you have no rank until you are restored. Otherwise, file charges tomorrow.” She laughed and he growled against her throat “I missed you. Venri, I missed you so much.”

She pulled her face to look at her and she asked solemnly “Are you okay?”

He put her down on the ground and his voice was shaking as he pressed his crest against her forehead “I have you back.” That was his answer. Then he said “You have too many clothes on.”

She started to pull her clothes off, but he stopped her, saying “Hold still.”

She said quietly “Is that an order?”

He raised his eyes to hers, slowly considering, and then quirked a small smile. He wrapped her hair around his hand once, pulling her head back and exposing her throat, which he licked and then bit down, not enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. He said against her skin “Yes. That is an order. I don’t want to hurt you when I slice your clothes off, because when I hurt you, I want to do it intentionally.”

He held her hair and pulled back to look at what he was doing, slicing down a curve of fabric from her neckline down around the outer edge of her breast, the cool air and the trailing edge of his talon on her skin making her pull in a deep breath, but she tried not to move. With her shirt slashed open he lowered his head to touch his mouth to her nipple, lightly grazing with his tongue, mouth plates pressing into the skin. A soft moan escaped her lips and she leaned back against his hand, arched into his mouth. He lifted his head and watched as he sliced the fabric down from her neck to her wrist, letting it fall away, then crossing his hand over and doing the same on the other side. He followed with his mouth. He left little nips and touches of his tongue to her arms and then her hands, the fabric fell away.

He hauled her back up against him and said in her ear “They took you from me, out of my arms, they wouldn’t let me touch you, they wouldn’t let me hold you. I almost killed them for doing that. Leave it to you to find a way to make that happen, Bakan.”

He kissed her, gentle and persuasive, building up to rough and hard, his hand still holding her head by her hair. He moved his mouth to her ear and asked “Does it make you dizzy?” She tried to nod but her head wouldn’t move, and when he laughed she said “Yes.”

His breath was coming hard and he said “When they let me see you again, it took every bit of strength to not mark you. You are my Suntkan and they took you from me, took me from you. You kissed me and I wanted to drive you into the ground with my body. I didn’t care that you didn’t know my name.”

She was unaccustomed to him and she was dizzy, as dizzy as she’d been the first time he’d kissed her. He repeated the words he’d said in the shuttle on the way back up from the planet “Never…do that again.”

She said weakly “Yes, sir.”

He growled, pulled her to the bed and sat her on the edge of it, and she reached for him, seeking his waist, and he repeated his admonition to “Hold. Still.”

He sliced pants off of her, leaving two red-streaked grooves in her upper thighs. He licked at the marks and pushed her back on the bed with one hand. He removed his clothes, glaring at her, daring her to move, and she didn’t. She was drowning in desire and guilt. He ground his hands against the ridges in his shoulders, and then leaned over her, dragging six tracks of scent down her body, starting at her collarbones and sliding down over her breasts, her stomach, and then down her upper thighs. She breathed in and arched her head back, dizziness accelerating into vertigo. He moved between her legs and pressed her thighs wider apart, digging his claws in. She gripped the edge of the bed as his mouth moved with the intent of possession. His tongue lashed at her and he was pressing her thighs open farther, painfully, claws digging deeper. He wrested moans and whimpers from her, and then he gentled his tongue until she was trembling and aching, trying to press up against his mouth.

He stopped and she tried to arch back up to him, but he held her legs apart and turned his head to bite the inside of her thigh, hard, drawing blood. She let out a shriek as his mouth returned to her clit, the sting of the bite and the taut trembling of her thighs pressed wide with his hands swirling into urgency, something building and something had to stop, had to be relieved. His mouth teased and then demanded, and he released one of her thighs to slide a blunt finger into her until she arched her mouth against him, crying out his name.

He stood and flipped her over easily onto her stomach, lifting her ass and dragging her back to him. He pushed into her with a reverberating growl that melted her spine. Nova-rush Reverie sensation scattered through her and he lifted her back against his chest, an arm around her waist and a hand spanning her throat. He bit her throat, Reverie making it warm fireworks, the trails of blood distinct tracks sparking on her skin. He moved his hand from her throat and put a patch of skin from his forearm in front of her mouth. He said in warm steel-honey tones “Bite.”

She licked at his skin and felt that rock through him, catching his breath and nuzzling at her throat, tongue pressing to the dots of blood, humming against her skin. The sound turned into a groan and then a snarl as she bit down.

He carried her over and pressed her up against the cold glass of the fish tank, dragged his forearm over her throat until blood mingled, and licked at her skin with hungry growls. The glass warmed from the heat of her skin and her head fell back against his shoulder. He held her there by both hips, claws digging in, little stars of pleasure at the end of his fingertips. He pulled from her body and then slammed back in, and he said “You came back to me.”

She said between gasps “Always.”

He pulled out again and angled her body into a steeper angle of penetration “Stay with me.”

Her voice was going hoarse but she whispered “Always” again and he licked at her throat, a full-body purr of pleasure radiating from his chest.

He thrust and withdrew between his words, low and warm, hypnotic and welcome, pausing between each word to breathe in scent or lick at her throat. “I. Am. So. Proud. Of. You. I. Am. So. Proud. To. Be. Your. Mate.”

He glided his cock into her at the pace of her breathing, faster and harder, brought his hand between her and the glass and sought out her clit again. He whispered in her ear “Come for me, Morim. Come around me. I need to feel you come, I need to hear it. Show me.” With his mouth and his hands and his voice and his cock he brought her breathless and shaking to another teeming orgasm that swirled like vortex through her head and wrung all the strength from her muscles. He leaned against her, panting, and kissed the back of her throat, moving her sweat-stranded hair aside. After a few long moments of breathing together he leaned her back against him and then carried her to the bed, back to the rightness of being joined, his mouth at her ear, whispering her name and words of love and devotion until she fell asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

Shepard

She woke to Garrus leaning over, nibbling at her ear. She had no idea what time it is and didn't really care, she was comfortable and warm and not the littlest bit interested when he said "Time to get up."

She kicked at him lightly because any harder and she'd break her toes. She whined "No. You go be in charge."

He growled softly and said "I can't wait to give you back your ship, these people are a pain in the ass and I have no idea how you do it."

She tried to pull covers over her head but he stopped her. She said "Not doing it. Can't make me."

He chuckled against her ear and said "Oh, such a liar. If you can't follow orders there will be tickling."

She yawned and stretched and said "Okay. That's an effective threat. What time is it and where do we have to be?"

He nuzzled the back of her neck and said "Four a.m. and there's time for a shower and breakfast before I pile all the crap back on your plate. You need to know what's been going on and decide whether Nuar stays or goes and then I recommend we haul ass to a Geth dreadnought that's been hanging fire while your lazy ass was in bed."

She considered and then said "Just exactly how much shower time are we talking here?"

He lifted her out of bed and said "Seconds ticking away, the more you stall."

She pointed to the shower "Lead on."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Morim was up to speed in a short time relative to what had been going on. Garrus fed her situations and assessments and she was grateful for his quick thinking and prudent choices, salvaging her command and allowing them to continue on in their mission.

Garrus led Morim to the CIC, salutes along the way and clapping. Joker stood up and saluted and EDI stood and saluted. Garrus took the comm and relayed ship wide "This is Commander Vakarian. I am proud of every single member of this team. We're flying, we're on target for our next mission, and you've gone above and beyond the call of duty. I expected no less from this crew. Commander Shepard has command of the Normandy as of now."

Morim felt ready to cry but instead she said "Thank you. We're setting course for the next mission. We are going to go kick the everloving hell out of the next challenge in our way, and continue on until we have punted the Reapers back into retreat to whatever relay they can limp toward, and then we'll make sure they don't get through. In the meantime, I have two words for everyone to consider. Murder Paintball."

There was cheering and a general air of confusion, which was probably best considering how her command decisions often went. Garrus pulled her into an embrace, bumping his crest against her forehead, and said in exaggerated relief "Oh, thank the Spirits that is over. I hate your job. Don't make me do it again."

She kissed him and murmured "Yes, sir."

He gave a soft chuckle and then said "I'm so conflicted, I love the sound of that, too."

Joker interrupted with "What the hell is Murder Paintball?"

Morim explained "Everybody who wants to volunteer to play will get a target from the list of players. We won't have full-on guns, but I'm thinking a pen-sized device with a temporary color simulation projection. Mark your target with the device, then take their target, move on to the next. People can team up after they're dead, form squads to support whoever they think they want to win, so even out of the game you can still play. People can play on their off shift time. EDI, put together a list of candidates, you can look up the rules, I didn't make them up. Ultimately one winner. I need to talk to Ken and Gabby about putting together little pen zappers. Should be fun. Joker, we're on our way to Tikkun."

Joker said "Aye aye. I am up for Murder, but I'm betting I am out early on and I won't make much of a squad, they can just shoot me in the back of the head and I'm out."

Morim shrugged and said "So don't sit in your chair when you're off shift. Instead, you could always put together some Skyllian 5 games as a public service."

Joker considered and said "Oh, I like the sound of that, yes ma'am."

Morim smiled at Garrus and said "Okay, off to foment mayhem and check in with everyone. Joker, EDI, you need anything from me?'

Joker shook his head "I'm good, Commander, great to have you back."

EDI responded "Nothing required Commander. I am sorry that I was unable to visit during your recovery."

Morim nodded and said "Yeah, I understand. You and Javik were distinctly absent, but I figure they were trying to freak me out the least amount possible."

EDI nodded and said "I missed your presence, Commander. Please do not do that again."

Morim answered solemnly "I will do my best to comply."

Garrus walked her a few yards down the corridor and said "Okay, don't fuck it up. Nuar and Liara say you're not Leviathan bait. If you fuck up, we shoot you. We can't afford to have you not listed as Commander, you'd lose your commission and we'd lose our mission. Eeeeveryone's watching."

She smiled and said "Yeah, well, the whole ship's going to be shooting each other soon, everyone gets a chance. It's just not a full mission arc unless someone's screwing with my head. Prothean beacons, Asari mind tricks, David Archer, Leviathan."

Garrus said with mock gravity "I'll try to make shooting you nonlethal." He held out fingers in succession and said "One. Don't fuck up. Two. You fuck up, I shoot you. Three. You're tied to a bed until Leviathan goes away or until I'm done."

She considered "Not seeing the downside here, if we're talking nonlethal."

He murmured "Knew you'd take it like a soldier." He kissed her and then cracked his neck, saying "Work to do. Don't do anything stupid. Watching."

Her lips twitched and she said "Go be a hero."

He waved and said "Someone's got to do it."

She watched him go before working her way through every person on the CIC, checking in, soothing nerves and redirecting concern toward the mission at hand. Geth. 

She felt like herself, only better. She grieved and coped in short bursts, in the spaces between breaths, in lulls in conversation. She was okay, she just had more processing to do and she fit it into moments of silence and walking and transport. Efficient, Liara had put it. There was a slow mental hum of what she considered to be comparable to unconscious defragmentation and maintenance of her thought process, categorizing information and calculations in the background. It wasn't as glaring as the Cerberus upgrades had been or difficult to assimilate. This was more organic and had to do with the way her mind functioned. She was grateful for any edge.

Briefings with Hackett and Anderson came quickly after, handing over the prize of Leviathan assistance and the help of Nara Colony on the Crucible. She briefed them on her recovery from physical injuries related to decompression, which were enough to keep her down for the specified amount of time. Garrus and Karin had contrived to construct that story and keep it consistent. She was not averse to lies of omission in this case because Nuar, Liara and Karin had all agreed that she was fit for duty. Morim was not open to outside consultation, opinion or second guessing on the matter from anybody that wasn't on this ship.

Nuar had chosen to provide her aid to victims of Cerberus interventions after learning of them while on the ship and in Morim's head, and she was granted grateful permission. She'd take transport from the colony to the Citadel in aid of refugees. A soft hug and a gentle goodbye was the result of that decision. Communication with Nuar was easy because Nuar had already put everything Morim needed to know about Nuar inside Morim's head. Friendship was assured, support was promised, gratitude was exchanged.

With Garrus watching and the warning that everyone was watching, Morim felt reassured in that odd way of being trusted with potential horrific truths. She had just had some Leviathan upgrades and gotten her brain back, this was her shakedown run, with a team that knew her well enough to call foul if necessary. Everyone was watching everyone already because of indoctrination potential, so being watched wasn't even something that wouldn't have happened on a given day.

Situation Normal All Fucked Up.

Garrus had handled their mother's death with lethal precision and elegant resolution. That loss was yet to be fully felt, but she consoled herself with the life and choices that were yet to be made. She would need to ask Garrus how to honor her loss and grieve in longer moments, but that was for the future.

She headed down to the guts of the ship to make contact and reassure, explain the game of Murder and divert her junior engineers' attention toward frivolous pursuits with Adams' permission.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days into the cruise toward the Geth, Murder Paintball was a go. Kenneth and Gabby were tripping over each other to explain.

Kenneth was saying “This is absolutely brilliant. In order to provide proof of a hit, we have biometric marker feedback in the device itself and it can replay any hit, syncing up to all other devices in the area.”

Gabby said “Commander, this is huge, we’re going to submit a patent on this. Well, you know, for as long as patents are still working. There's medical and military and entertainment value.”

Morim nodded and said “Okay. You guys put it under your name, okay? It's not Alliance and this was a personal favor, so I want you both taking joint credit. You guys playing?”

Gabby and Kenneth looked at each other briefly and Kenneth said “I am so going to kick your ass, Gabby.”

Gabby responded “I know where you sleep.”

Kenneth answered “I sleep where you sleep.”

She smiled “Right. That will make it easy.”

Morim thanked them both and collected the devices, which were really very cool. She put together a pickup station, setting a time to start the game. Each device came coded with the name of a target and the planned progression, the grid set up by EDI after collating volunteers. As part of the game, nobody knew who was playing or was not playing other than EDI. Morim made an announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen and Gentlepersons of other persuasions, Murder Paintball is up and running. Rules are transmitted to your Omni Tools, which will also track biometrics and hits in coordination with Ken and Gabby's death sticks. Everybody find time to thank them and buy them a drink or a spare part. No hacking. This means you, Tali, though if you guys figure out how, do let me know. Keep in mind that other people are working and may be annoyed by screaming, so keep it down. To those not playing, I beg your patience. No game activities on the CIC except for trash talking. Due to obvious privacy breeches, shower facilities are also off limits. Breaks are fair game, you all have them, you can all use them for Murder related activities, but you have to clock out for game purposes. If you’re out hunting you can be hunted. If your death stick has juice, you're in. No powering down during pursuit, that's just cheap and there’s a proximity timer on it, so don’t try. Good hunting! I’ll see you all on the other side. As I have experienced death first hand I can tell you…you don’t want it. To give everyone a shot at collecting their targets and formulating plans, the game starts in 4 hours.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two days later and Morim had taken down 4 targets and watched people screech through hallways with shots and near misses, sometimes ignoring her, sometimes halting until she said “As you were” and then hunter and prey went careening off into different parts of the ship. The hangar bay was very popular. People were found exhausted sleeping where they usually didn’t sleep, sometimes being murdered in their sleep. The elevator was declared off limits 6 hours into the first wave. She should have thought of it, it was the main access and was being camped by multiple sources. That did not mean getting on or off the elevator was that much safer, but at least business could proceed for those not playing. About 30 people were playing, and being on duty was also now time to catch up on what had happened during the previous shift. Joker had proceeded with Skyllian 5, Vega was running Normandy Blood Bath and she felt that morale was getting a much-needed boost. Being disoriented on a warship had given her a good idea. Despair wore at the mind, and it wasn't just her mind at stake.

Some people had been murdered at a distance and had their information exchanged anonymously so they had no idea who took them down. There was still a great deal of mystery as to who was actually playing. Cortez had been eating and a splash of color had appeared on his shoulder from an impossible angle. She wondered whether he was exaggerating or if the beams had been hacked.

Javik was not so subtle and he had racked up the most number of notorious kills. Not much for stealth but excellent at speed and precision, he’d gathered an impressive number of people following him as the projected winner. He specialized in blitz attacks and Morim stayed the hell out of his way, having seen a crew swarm through the hallway, reporting locations and planning ambushes, Javik in the center of the pack, difficult to target due to enthusiastic meat shields.

Morim had spent exactly 5 hours a day, no more and no less, playing. She ate in her room. She had gotten a combination of technical gear that she wasn’t great at utilizing, but wasn’t bad at either. She had a cloaking device of the sort that Kasumi used, but Morim didn’t have the training to utilize it as well as Kasumi did. Morim could be quiet and still, but there were still things that had to do with syncing of heart rate and breath pacing to the device that made it harder for her to stay stealthed. It was still excellent practice. Her respect for Thane, who had been able to disappear without the device, was doubled. It was still hard to believe that a tall, iridescently shiny green man had done what he had done every day when he was alive. Morim also had an image projector for distraction purposes and had managed to move around with stealth and mirage and had kept people off her. She played very defensively at this game. She learned her target’s habits and she hid from other hunters.

Morim had removed all the items from a locker and had hidden inside it until Florez was about to check in. Morim scared the hell out of Florez as Morim's death stick registered a score. Florez started, jerked back and then started to laugh “Ah, dammit Commander. I haven’t taken anybody down yet. Can I join your crew?”

Morim had checked out her next target and distractedly said “Don’t have a crew, Florez. Maybe help Javik, he seems to need it.”

Florez had laughed and said “Congratulations, Commander. Glad I didn’t put down money on this one.”

Morim had said “I am shocked, shocked! To find that gambling is going on in here.”

Florez had looked uncomfortable until Morim had said “It’s a quote from a movie. Yes, I am aware that gambling is going on in here. Breathe, Florez. All your stuff is in that locker right there. I did eat some of your food though, you have good taste. The wrappers look full but they're empty. I got bored, you took a while. If you tell anybody that I was here and that I killed you before this game is over, I will find you in your sleep and make you suffer. You can start breathing again after I leave, clear?” She'd have boxes of what she ate delivered later, with some for herself. 

She had a lot of adrenaline between hiding places. She also remembered a side effect of this game - having to pee badly and developing cramps in places she had forgotten she had muscles.

No wonder Florez hadn't taken anybody down, she'd had the luck to draw Javik first, now Javik was Morim's target. This was going to take some prep. She had her stealth and her projector but she also had access codes and creative thinking. After her clone had attempted to hijack the Normandy, Morim had learned more of the underpinnings of the ship, the access and output vents and maintenance causeways. There was a hatch leading to Javik’s room and even more importantly, one in the hallway outside. 

She returned to their quarters, aching and happy. Yeah, she was calm during actual battle, but this was just too much fun to avoid the rush that went with it, the rush was the whole point.

Garrus was getting more work done in their quarters, waiting for her and he said “The huntress returns to her lair.”

She smiled and walked over to him, flumping down in his lap, his arms wrapping around her and kissing commencing until she groaned and stretched out in his arms “You’re missing a lot of fun, Garrus.”

He smiled and squeezed at her waist “Yeah, well…I have a lot of work, can’t afford to play. Glad you’re having fun.”

She leaned back against him “Oh, lots of fun. We used to play this to make long tours less boring. Low tech, just hit each other with a wadded up bit of paper above the waist, with the name of your target.”

He lifted a brow “I got a look at one of those little weapon things, that’s some nice tech. Kenneth and Gabby couldn’t stop gushing. I couldn’t stop being impressed.”

She twisted her neck and said “Javik’s next on my list. I have to figure out how to bring him down. He’s got a pack.”

He asked “Really? Do you have a pack?”

She shook her head “No, I work alone, Vakarian. I’m a lone wolf. A lone varren. A shot in the dark. I just cramp up occasionally.”

He turned her and ran his hands over her shoulders and then thighs for a while, and she’d melted into happy puddle. He said “Come on, I have a little bit of time, how long does this take?”

She said sternly “I’m a lone varren. Weren’t you listening?”

He scoffed and said “Lone varren with cramps. I’ve barely seen you in two days.”

She laughed softly and said “Well, it was dark, but seeing wasn’t necessary.”

He kissed the side of her throat and said “Morim by fish tank light is lovely and has a certain allure, but if you’re going stalking, I can just sit by you and help you work out the kinks, so to speak.”

She groaned and said “That sounds like an excellent idea. Okay. Javik is off duty in 30 minutes. We can get into position. Normally I wouldn’t invite you because I utilize stealth and tight spaces and you are not a stealthy person. But! I know you can do it. We did it on the way into the Normandy after my clone made her colossal misstep. Fortunately you're irresistible. Maintenance tunnels here we go.”

He raised a brow plate “Isn’t that a little extreme? Why can’t we just lie in wait in a hallway somewhere?”

She scoffed “Extreme is necessary. There are other hunters in hallways and this is a stealth issue, we are on a stake out. In or out, if we’re going, we need to go now, except you need to change because you’re clanky in that.”

He muttered “Spirits forbid I’m clanky.” He changed into something more casual and she was sure he would classify as vulnerable. 

She punched in the code and opened up the ceiling hatch in her bathroom and jumped up into the access tunnel. Garrus said skeptically "We can't take the elevator?"

She said dismissively "Lone varren. If you can't keep up, I will leave your slightly less clanky ass behind."

She heard him groan, but he jumped up into the hatch and was behind her quietly enough that she didn't complain. She'd had the route memorized and she moved through the tunnels leading vaguely downward in switchbacks and ladders. 

She chose a spot over a hatch that led into the hallway outside Javik's door. From the noise there were a bunch of people milling around the hallway, anticipating Javik's entry into the game shortly.

Morim mouthed 'traitors' and then shook her head when Garrus cocked his, because of course he couldn't read lips and the translator wouldn't be able to work with any sound. The hatch itself was a problem because opening it would make noise. She needed to ease it open but not let it fall free until later. She timed the mechanism to loud laughs and trash talking, maintaining it on its balance but able to be released silently with one final twist.

She heard from below, she thought it was Marcus "Javik's the only one I know is even playing now. It's hard to bet when you don't know who is playing, so Javik's my only shot at some glory here."

There was an answer from Kerrel "I managed to take down Vega, but only because he won't stop doing pull ups even for the game. You bastards made sure I couldn't enjoy that for long. Might as well join 'em."

Someone said "Who is next?"

Various confused guesses. Apparently Javik played it close and tight and didn't inform his human shields who his targets were. 

Garrus spent some time moving in next to her beside the hatch, his hands stroking over her strained thighs and his mouth nipping at her throat.

The lone varren did not want to squeak, but it was hard to accomplish. Adrenaline and warm kisses occupied their time.

When the hydraulics of Javik's door hissed open she scrambled to put Garrus's hands on her calves and then opened the hatch suddenly, dropping down head first while Garrus realized fast that kissing was over. He almost let her slip, caught by surprise, but he grabbed at her descending calves quickly and didn't let her fall. She twisted until she had Javik in her sights and tapped the contact, lighting up a patch of the back of his head, above the throng. 

Once she had a confirmed tingle of a hit she tugged rapidly with one of her legs in a way that she hoped he'd understand and he hauled her back up quietly. There was a clamor below.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Was that Shepard?"

"Worth the price of admission."

She heard Javik say evenly "You are all useless."

She laughed quietly and secured the hatch quickly, leaning over to hug Garrus and kiss his cheek with happy adrenaline trembles. "That was great! Thank you."

His voice was warm as he said "My pleasure."

She took her little death stick and started to check the readout while underneath in the passageway there was a ringing buzz of notifications. She fumbled with hers while it vibrated and then lit up with the words "Murder Paintball Winner" and then scrolled again while she bounced on her knees with anticipation "Garrus Vakarian."

Laughter and clapping broke out below and Javik said in humor-rich tones aimed up at the ceiling "Congratulations, Commander Vakarian."

Morim's jaw dropped and she looked down to notice a pool of light glowing under her right breast while Garrus twirled his own death stick between his fingers.

She gaped at him and then said "Lying ass Turian stupid face cheater."

He shrugged and said "I have no idea how humans survived the First Contact War. It must have been a combination of fluke and pity."

She narrowed her eyes and said "It's because we knew not to trust a Turian. How the…"

He answered "You sleep a lot more than I do."

She started to laugh and scrolled further through the readout "I got 5 kills, Javik got 6, You got 7. Cortez was one of them. How did you do that one? I have to know."

Garrus explained "Customized reflective surfaces, I put a lot of them up. They were very helpful."

She whistled low and said "If that wasn't the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard, I'd be really mad right now."

He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, crushing her against his sternum blade. He moved his mouth in little kisses and nips to her ear and said "Thanks for taking out Javik, he would have been a challenge."

She rolled her eyes and said "How long have you had me as a target?”

He said “About a day.”

She shook her head “So you were just going to wait for me to take everyone else out first. Oh, fuck you Vakarian. Come on."

The crowd underneath them was clapping and chanting "Gar-RUS, Gar-RUS, Gar-RUS" and he spun open the mechanism for the hatch, dropped down and caught her on her way down.

He bowed to the crowd and said "I claim this win on behalf of Clan Shepard."

Morim rolled her eyes and said "Motherfucking cheater."

There was a lot of congratulations and back slapping. People came from all over the ship after their notifications and she eventually said to the hallway "Move this to the mess, breaking out all sorts of alcohol. On me."

He leaned in and said "I just won a whole hell of a lot of money, I'll reimburse you."

She hit him "So fucking obnoxious."

He laughed and his hand was on her lower back as they walked to the mess "You asked me what I did for fun. I've decided. This was fun."

She tried to keep a straight face as she said "Hate you so much."

He sounded thoughtful "We are celebrating this day every year. Mark your calendar."

The fun of the game, the surprise of his win, being deftly outmaneuvered and his assumption of years of anniversaries combined to make her awfully happy. Definitely good for morale. She said "I'll make sure to shoot you first next year."

He laughed, pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear "That's what you get when you throw a shooting competition."

She laughed and it was a concession. He said "Damn. You did throw it.” He shook his head and repeated her tone and phrasing. “Hate you so much."

She leaned in to kiss him and said "Oh, I can tell. You're so damned cute when you win."

He sounded offended "I'm not cute. I'm clanky."

Alcohol and food distributed, she settled in with a bottle of Ryncol and held court with Garrus, sitting close enough to lean on him. She offered shots and offered drinking contests, but nobody would take her up on it.

Vega said “Look, I can handle my liquor, but you’re a biotic. One shot is fine, but I can’t keep pace with you, Lola. I’m only human.”

She toasted to him and said “And I’m only part…human, biotic, Prothean, ghost, cybernetic and now Leviathan. Yeah, it’s probably not fair.” She took a shot and damn, it was nasty, but she suspected whiskey was not going to give her a buzz anymore.

She lined one up for Vega and one for Garrus, who looked at it, shrugged and then downed it. Vega laughed and then knocked it down, keeping his balance and everything, before he waved off any more and tried not to stagger as he walked away. Tali came and sat down, declined a shot, and said “Congratulations Garrus. I should have known better than to try to play. My peripheral vision is terrible in this suit at times.”

Garrus sympathized, saying “I’m glad I didn’t have to kill you, Tali.”

She shrugged and said “I was hit by a Javik swarm. I don’t think I’m playing again.”

Morim said “Awww…I’m not sure I can either, depending on how this all goes, but that was fun. Though I will never trust my husband again.”

Garrus bumped his shoulder against hers “You can trust me. You just won’t know when.”

Morim poured another shot and said “A toast to the vile betrayer!”

A cheer went up “To the vile betrayer!”

She giggled and said “I love these guys.” Then she turned to Garrus and said “Javik called you Commander. I think he likes you.”

Garrus said confidentially “I’ll stay close to him and play along, when he tries to take over the ship, I’ll give you a head’s up and you can head for a life pod.”

She narrowed her eyes “Whoah, me and life pods, not so good. So you’re not coming with me?”

He laughed “Are you kidding? Have you seen this ship? It’s nice.”

Tali added “Kal and I could make ourselves useful.”

Garrus gestured at Tali “See? It’s a good deal. Why don’t you want me to have any fun?”

Morim asserted “Wait, wait, wait. I can be useful, I promise.”

Tali consoled her by saying “You like mining, Shepard. We’ll drop you somewhere rich. With a bunch of probes.”

Garrus considered and said “Not sure you can be useful, you got anything in the way of booty?”

Morim cracked up and Garrus said “What?”

Morim took another shot and said “Booty. Never mind. Human thing. Yes, I’m four years old.”

Tali responded “Then you definitely can’t come.”

Garrus tilted his nose up “You’re probably not tall enough to be a pirate anyway.”

Morim put her head down on the table and pretended to cry.

Joker wandered up and said “Hey, Garrus, congratulations and thanks for finishing that. Couldn’t even play a game of cards without someone either hiding under the table or knocking the whole thing over. What’s with her?”

Garrus shrugged and said “Something about booty. She’d make a crappy pirate when we all take off together and leave her behind.”

Joker said “Oh, yeah, I can see that. I can do some quality pirating.”

Morim said in mock outrage “He’s definitely not tall enough.”

Joker clucked and said “I see why they’re not bringing you, you’re judgmental and there’s something wrong with your booty.”

Morim muttered “I’m going to have a whole bunch of Eezo and you guys are going to need it and I won’t let you have it.”

Joker countered “We’ll be pirates, we’ll just take it.”

Garrus agreed “It’s not like we’re not going to visit, we like you.”

Morim nodded “Right, right. It’s just that Javik likes you more.”

Garrus shrugged “Can you blame him?”

Tali nodded “Javik has good taste.”

Joker said sagely “Yeah, if I want to get any pirating done and I don’t want to be killed in my sleep by a gang of marauding sycophants, I need to agree with Javik.”

Morim took another shot “Sycophants. That’s what I forgot to get at the last port.”

Tali shrugged “Too late now.”

People came and went and there were more stories. Morim was getting slightly off balance from the Ryncol, but couldn't get drunk. She assumed she'd get sick first. She kept giving Garrus shots at intervals and he was definitely getting drunk. By the time the table was doing their best Shepard "I should go" impressions, Garrus was heard to giggle. He put both hands over his mouth and then started to laugh harder and put his head down on the table.

Morim steadied him by the shoulder and said "No, really, I should go. Come on vile betrayer."

Garrus tried to stand up but he needed help. She hoisted him up and he said "Whoah, elevation change. Give me a second here."

Morim kissed his throat and said "I've got you, come on. Before we find out whether or not you snore under stress."

Garrus snorted "Never. I growl. You like it."

She agreed "Yes, and I'll be jealous if everyone hears it. C'mon."

He waved to the crowd and wished good nights and condolences on death and was given an ovation on his unsteady way out.

Morim teased him "Okay, we're going back through the maintenance tunnels, think you can manage the ladders?"

His head thunked down and he leaned more heavily on her. "If by manage you mean fall asleep leaning against a ladder, then yes. I'm good."

She guided him to the elevator and leaned him up against a corner, said "Stay" and held him up when he started sliding down. She said "You are useless, Vakarian."

He shook his head and said "No, no, no. You're looking at it wrong. I'm not useless, I'm just…receptive right now." 

She said skeptically "Uh huh. Receptive to being a door stop."

He nodded "As long as it isn't really important that the door stay open, I'm your man."

She pulled him by both hands into the cabin and stopped his forward progress carefully to step down. She repeated "You're my man."

He leaned down to kiss her and missed her mouth, then giggled again. She said "Vakarian, what am I going to do with you?"

He said hopefully "Strip me and take advantage of me, I hope. Or I can lie down…up there…and guard the door. It seems like an awfully long way though. How in hell are you not drunk?"

She shrugged "You had about half the Ryncol I had. I think I metabolize even faster now."

He closed his eyes and asked "Oh shit…I was not paying attention." She started removing his shirt and he said "Please be merciless. I like it when you're merciless. I'll put in a good word with the pirates. Joker explained the dual meaning of booty. I think you have a shot."

She answered "Oh no. I know better than to trust a Turian now."

He groaned as her hands slid over his body, removing his clothes with teasing efficiency. She led him to the bed and helped him get in, carefully making sure that his fringe was protected by a pillow. He said grumpily "This seems way too merciful."

She leaned over and whispered to him "You're very delicate, the ways I can crack you by pushing you around is shameful."

He laughed shortly and then said "Yeah, we're spiky and clanky. Do you know how many times I've stubbed my fringe on things? Especially as a kid, there's a whole ward for fringe injuries at hospitals. Don't tell anybody I told you that. It's not for outsiders."

She unzipped her jacket, tilting her head as he talked, watching him. She shimmied out of her pants and he started to purr. She straddled his upper thighs and said "You can tell me. I may not be a pirate, but I do have a clan.” She rubbed her hands together and blue light with streaks of dark smoke and silver flashes streamed from fingertips and settled over his chest, spreading out over his skin like mercury and lingering before sinking in. 

He cried out hoarsely and his head strained back against the pillow and her lips quirked. She said softly “Mercy is relative, Garrus Shepard.” A warm heavy curtain of power fell through her from mind to toes, thinking of what to do with him and the quality of mercilessness being strained.

She played with all the new things she could do with biotics and their effect on him. She could pour enervating light along his limbs, change the temperature, change the direction, cause it to pool. So she did, and then set her own skin humming, leaning forward to follow the tracing of plate rifts with her tongue and fingertips. When his arms tried to come around her she pushed them back and immobilized them with little crackles of sound and light. He stopped trying after that happened a few times, and instead shredded the blanket.

She leaned toward his ear and said “Control yourself now. No claws. No hands. Hold still. Be helpless, Garrus Shepard.”

She thought he was going to talk so she spread more energy over him until his head was back, strained, hard breathing his only response. When his claws retracted she kissed and nibbled along the plate ridges of his fingers, sucking one of his fingers into her mouth. He was trembling, bucking with the energy and his spine stiffening every time she called him Shepard. Your sin and strength is pride, my love. She thought it but didn’t say it. She smiled and set her hands to each side of his groin plates, making his cock reveal itself with shuddering speed and a groan from him.

He made such lovely noises, purrs and growls and groans that coiled around her heart and squeezed. She wanted to hear them for hours. She didn’t count on him lasting that long, biotics and slow teasing and alcohol, she was planning on making him pass out.

She charged her skin with renewing pulses of warmth and teasing penetration, the sensation drawing her nipples taut. With a soft ‘mmmm’ she pressed her breasts together around his cock, licking at the tip, moving tortuously slow. The touch of her tongue to him, that addictive boost of Reverie, that numb tingle. A fizz of dizziness joined all the other sensations swirling through her, and from her, to him. The feel of the biotics through her skin, her lips, her hands, had his cock frantically seeking, twisting and turning, his voice broken and pleading. She drank in the way he said her name with longing interrupted by gasps and closed-mouth straining sounds. Reverie didn’t overwhelm her as it often had, but it didn’t fade, slowly raising her lust, sharpening her hunger and magnifying how good he sounded, how good he felt. She had her breasts pressed to the base of his cock, pressing in, her mouth and hands wresting moans and hisses and the spasmodic press of his open hands to the bed.

She lifted herself completely from him and moved up his body until she was licking around his bite mark, another place of pride on his body. She asked him “Do you want to use your hands?”

He snarled out a strained “YES” and she smiled against his skin and said ‘Good…but you can’t.” She interrupted his frustrated sounds with a bite on his throat, turning his protest into a long groan of pain-pleasure while she tasted blood. She pulled back and lifted one of his hands, stroking along a plate groove and said “Give me your claw.” He did and she smiled at him, then drew the tip down her sternum, breaking the skin, then licking the tip of his claw before pressing it back into his hand and putting it back down flat.

She scratched fingertips along his scent ridges and then rubbed under her jaw and swathed her fingers over her breasts. She gathered blood from between her breasts with a fingertip and then from his throat with another, rubbing that against her lips. She leaned forward until she was almost touching his mouth and said “Open for me, then hold still.” She pressed a charged hand to the side of his straining throat, and another hand vibrating against the Kinril spacers, taking a long moment to savor his straining muscles. He wanted to take control but he wouldn’t. Her word was law. His mouth plates parted and she licked along the edges, touching her tongue to his. His response was that chest-deep purr. She pressed her breasts to him to feel it through his chest to hers. 

She set her skin to pulsing blues, sliding back to take his still-straining cock in her hands, then rubbed the tip against her clit, gliding wet and slow against him, stopping to grind against the jointed creases, treating him like a toy. He stared at her fierce-weak, electric blue, and she hitched her lips in a smile, and closed her eyes, closed him out. She intensified the flow of energy from her hands and rode the side of his cock with patient slowness, as if she were alone with all the time in the world. The sounds he made and the way he involuntarily twisted as she held him against herself, the pulsing energy from her own hands brought her slowly and then faster to a shuddering orgasm, biting her lip as she pinched at her nipple and threw her head back. Before the waves faded she lifted herself and took him inside hard and deep and she opened her eyes to watch him as full Reverie overtook his body and hers.

She leaned forward on him, biting at his throat again until the wound opened, biting down on her lip and allowing him to kiss her, lick the taste from her, with only his mouth and his tongue, no hands, no lifting his head.

She said softly "What's my name?"

He answered hoarsely "Morim." His beloved voice made her smile and she kissed him again lingeringly. Then she sat up and used her thighs to lean forward and thrust, breasts bouncing, renewed energy in her hands passing over his waist, his chest, his thighs.

She kept one hand on his body and one hand between their legs, dragging more growls from him and watching his eyes roll back in his head. She rode him until she came again, watching the strain in his arms, in his neck, listening to his pleas.

She stopped right before she thought he was about to faint, then leaned forward again, repeating the bites, the kiss, asking him what her name was. It didn't matter which name he used, though he thought it did, trying to get it right, calling her Shepard, Morim, Bakan, Commander, Venri…

Each time he called her name on command she'd start over.

She stopped asking only when he couldn't form any words, and then she drove him into the merciless dark.


	28. Chapter 28

Garrus

When he woke he was still joined to his blissfully sleeping wife, who was sprawled on his chest, her ear over his heart, her delicate hand curled up and around his sternum blade, knuckles bent on the ridge. He flexed his shoulders and tilted his neck, stretching out slightly and savoring the feel of her warm, unconscious weight. He still had a bit of alcohol in his system, Reverie was coursing through him, and he was happy. He was peaceful, which was a word that almost never described him. Calm, yes. Quiet, yes. Still, yes. Peaceful…hardly ever. He relaxed into the sense that his blessings were uncountable, infinite, and best enjoyed rather than enumerated. Each breath was precious in this state, time slipping by measured in contentment.

He stroked his fingers through her hair and it was as though some counter had tipped over in him, shifting the scales from the side of needing to the side of having. To have enough of her not just for now, not to be hidden away for later in caches of fear against loss. He could hold this moment for the rest of his days and consider himself lucky.

Faith. He finally truly had it instead of faking it or appearing as though it were true. Perhaps a gift from the Leviathan to her and then from her to him, this sense of peace in the deep waters rather than roiling depths where horrors hid, concealed by a glassy and facile surface. Perhaps having Nuar pass thoughts between them like rain, clouds meeting land, distance crossed. Perhaps it was seeing her entirely back to herself, after he’d done her job well for her, giving her back a ship with no problems to solve. Perhaps it was having his wife use his body for pleasure the way he used hers, the way she showed him she knew his intimate necessities of desire. She knew the way his thoughts and doubts evaporated under the heat of muscle to muscle, skin to skin lust. The combination of bonding, Reverie, and the way she set his body churning with need and hunger by the sight of her, the smell of her, the touch of her skin. The way the tilt of her lips, the fire in her eyes, the light in her fingertips slaked his thirst for her. He was overwhelmed by good fortune in times when others were losing everything.

Perhaps it was kicking her ass at Murder Paintball. He smiled.

All the petty and deep pleasures piled up inside him, reaching some mark of a life well lived, a time well served, a love well expressed.

He gently shifted until his arms were around her, closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her breathing, marking time that way as though he were watching the constellations arc across the night sky. He drifted back to sleep until his vibrating alarm woke him. 

He murmured into her hair "Good morning, merciless space harpy."

She stirred and stretched and said "Morning, vile betrayer."

He chuckled and kissed her, then said "I have to go, I'll be back to wake you in a few hours."

She yawned and said "The loss of my pillow will be sad, but your service is appreciated."

He rolled to the side and pulled from her body with a regretful sigh. She reassembled her collapsed limbs into a curled position, her hand still on his chest until he shifted back. He settled the blankets around her and said "I am going to have trouble walking today."

She gave him a sleep-drenched, eyes-closed smile and said "Suck it up."

He kissed her hair and said "Someday I'm going to slip red sand into your Ryncol, see what you can do."

Her soft laughter followed his ache-strewn progress into the shower.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Geth Dreadnought

Meanwhile in a derelict vessel

Shepard: I hate those hunters so much, always have.

Tali: I can make them fight each other to the death if you prefer.

Shepard: Yes! That! Please, that. Then have Chiktika shoot the remains. Then I want to stomp on them.

Garrus: Kinky.

Shepard: Always gotta make it weird, Vakarian.

Tali: Do not speak like this in front of Chiktika, she's still too young.

Garrus: She's going to die in 12 seconds, Tali, let her live it up.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Legion was here. 

Of all her lethal ducklings, Legion was the most childlike in nature and one of the most imposing in presence. They'd pulled him from captivity, slung casually amid cables and servitude, reminiscent of David Archer, those two rivaling each other in talent and innocence. Legion was a unique child of history and circumstance, capable of speech, loyalty and an odd fashion sense involving her gear. She was just a human, but he was a singularity. He was a bridge between what had brought about this war in the first place, synthetics and organics, capable of navigation in each world, wanting the best for both sides, trusted by neither but needed by both. He was the embodiment of the courage and trials it took to seek unity.

Garrus had been dismissive and concerned about Legion, but he was missing the angry undertones that he probably didn't even know he often put out under stress. Finally Garrus's body stance and his sub-harmonics matched his words. Garrus had often sounded sarcastic to her just based on the dissonance between his presentation and his oration. Compared to the anger that had accompanied Legion's first tour on the Normandy, Garrus had contented himself to state that it was likely Legion had been bait. Morim had agreed with his logic. High probability that Legion was maintained as an entity to be bait. They were so accustomed to baits and traps, though, that there wasn't much accent on it as a problem so much as a known issue.

Legion was still Legion as far as she saw, stoic acceptance of utility included in the package. He still had the ragged hole through the chest and the plates around his optics that could flutter in ways that reminded her of a butterfly drying its wings after rain, delicate and vulnerable when he spoke to her.

She still trusted him, still believed in him. Bait notwithstanding, she would grant him trust, though Garrus had suggested that he be limited from accessing the Normandy's systems. She agreed, there was no real reason why he should have access. Legion's priorities were the Geth, the resolution of the conflict with the Quarians, and he was not a member of her team. He was a representative and as such he had the same clearance as Admiral Shala'Raan, carefully not allowing either side more access in diplomatic balance.

Between Legion and any of the Quarian Admirals excepting Tali, Legion won in terms of loyalty, charm and tactics. This conflict was a suicidal mess of hubris and she was disgusted by Quarian ambition put in context with the Reaper invasion and the quiescence of the Geth before being driven to seek Reaper aid. To start a new war while others were fighting the defining war was unconscionable. 

She'd seen Legion in battle, under stress, talked to him and fought beside him. As she'd noticed with Thane, Legion would prioritize her presence and protect her. It wasn't romantic love, but it was love and it was loyalty, unchanged since she had last seen him other than his being more willing to take individual action to benefit the team. She felt a kindred spirit in his loyalty to the concept of consensus, his hopes of a brighter future for those he considered to be his people. His priorities and patience and hope were most aligned with her own out of many of the companions she'd had. He credited her with some inspiration. When he was shorn of entrapping cables he’d proceeded to the next target with undimmed hope. She admired him and was honored by his deference. 

Legion's loyalty was a precious thing. The evocative turn of his head, the softening of his voice when he spoke to her, those moments where pause and hesitation led to revelation, these things she treasured.

Garrus saw a machine, she saw the power of choice. Legion chose, and that was his strength. She chose and that was her strength. She'd seen enough of the conflict in him about the choices to recognize it. 

Garrus was precise, finding the efficient distance between two physical points, impatient with anything less solid. In Legion she found someone who sought different points, those more akin to her own. Philosophical points, the uncharted spots on the map of the soul. Meeting Legion at the business end of his sniper rifle when he could have picked her off instead of the husks had sparked her imagination in ways that had only grown as she spent more time with him. He hoped as she hoped. His metaphor of consensus was real to him, he sought peace, understanding, and regret at the loss of those things.

Garrus was dance.

Legion was poetry.

She felt the same sense of history with him that she had felt in the presence of the Rachni queen. Not-Mine. Legion was not hers, but she had the luck and grace to have met and earned his loyalty and precision at her back once, and now by her side. Legion had joined with her once to suit his own needs and had done so again. Legion was immune to her humor and cajoling and he spent time in that space of awe he engendered and pulled her in with him, somewhere others couldn’t go. That particular blend of innocence and intimacy drew her to him, convinced her. It was not less real because it was accompanied by doubt and subtlety. 

She would follow Legion, she knew it. She trusted the navigation of Legion’s way, paths hard-picked through impossible terrain, navigated in terms of decades and unseen ultimate goals.

Garrus would not understand, but would allow her poetry as he danced.

Timeline: Rannoch, Geth Fighter Squadrons

Shepard

Oh boy. She got to be uploaded. She turned to Garrus, who was trying not to smile. He shook his head and said “Well, I’ve got odds that you’ll take down whatever’s in there. To bet otherwise would be ignoring history.” Garrus raised his voice and said “Legion, if this does any harm to Shepard Commander I’m taking it out of you component by component.”

Legion nodded and said “Acknowledged.” Earnestly, seriously. Legion's voice sounded appalled at the idea of harm coming to her. Hard to imagine this was any level of trap except for everything usually being a trap.

This wasn’t a dive into an ocean and her body would be right there. She expected more resistance from Garrus, but he’d changed. He didn’t accept her choices blindly, but he had learned the limits of his impatience and fear. He’d cordoned off the space where they met emergency together as a safer place, and when she met emergency alone he gave her the faith he’d promised her.

Yes, it always was that important.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shaken and tired, she tried to take in everything Legion had shown her, including the fact that Legion had been the unit wanting to know if he had a soul. The hole in his chest had existed for 300 years. He was a true AI, all of his hedging regarding secrecy and privacy finally slamming home to her. He’d withheld his own story, but he’d found a way to tell her without being overheard. He'd allowed for history to speak for him. Had he wondered if she would believe him if he told her? 

Once she’d finished her debriefings she’d sought out Garrus, who looked her over with his critical assessment before pulling her into an embrace, his chin on the top of her head. He said quietly “Are you all right?”

She nodded against his armor and said “Didn’t even really have to kill anything, it was more like clearing debris. I’m okay. Nothing shaken loose, just new information. Geth history.”

He squeezed her and then tilted her head up to look at him. He said “So I don’t have to murder Legion?”

She shook her head vehemently “No, not allowed. In fact, I’d prioritize his life over mine historically.”

His brow plates rose and he laughed, but then he said “You’re serious.”

She nodded “I’m serious. I’ll tell you about it later. It doesn’t affect the mission. I’m going to go talk to Legion for a little while, also not affecting the mission, I just have some questions.”

She walked to Legion and touched his forearm, then tipped her head and gestured that he follow her. She led him through the Med Bay and back into the AI core, the room where he’d been assigned when he was part of her crew.

She missed that relationship, but Legion was different now. It was a nostalgic location and one she hoped he’d understand. The door closed and silence enveloped them both. She sat down cross legged by the back wall and said “Tell me about the Morning War.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

It had been hours since he’d seen her. He checked the usual places where she would be, remembering that she said she wanted to talk to Legion. They were not in the war room. She was not in the cabin. It looked like she was asleep from her readings. Rather than ask EDI he considered the data he had and thought perhaps Morim was in the AI core, speaking to Legion privately.

When he entered, she was asleep on the back ledge of the room, stretched out and comfortable on her side, her cheek on her folded forearms.

Legion was watching her sleep, not moving except for the plates on his head moving slowly. Garrus wondered if his mandibles had the same effect, giving away internal thought. Legion didn’t turn to look at him. 

Legion said in an attempt at a whisper “She wished to hear a story.”

Garrus looked at her, and then at Legion, not surprised that she had inspired this loyalty in him. Garrus had no idea what Legion was, but Morim did, or thought she did.

Garrus said to him quietly "She believes your life to be of more value than hers."

Legion's head didn't move from observing her face. He sat still, a disturbed wave at his crown, then stillness. Legion shook his head slowly and said "She is mistaken."

Garrus smiled and said "Agreed. Legion, do not put her in the position of protecting you at the cost of her own life."

Legion's head turned to Garrus and it looked as though he raised a haughty eyebrow. Legion said "It would not happen." 

Garrus looked at him and relented, saying "It isn’t a criticism. I need you to know how she values you, if she has not told you herself. She guards the people she values." He didn’t want to call Legion a thing. She was asleep, but he didn’t want her to hear that. Whatever was going on here he knew enough to respect it.

Legion's eyes drifted back to her and he said "She did not tell me. There is a word for you making that request of me."

Garrus said “And what is that word?”

Legion looked at Garrus and said “Ironic.”

Garrus almost smiled and then he said “Yes, but we will try."

Legion echoed "We will try."

Garrus said quietly “We are best suited to the task.” Garrus lifted her and carried her out, Legion’s attention following her on the way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Rannoch

Shepard

Legion crumpled to the ground, giving up the last of himself to inspire and guide his people, and Morim lunged for him, catching his body as she fell to her knees, rocking him back and forth while she cried. He was dead weight and she felt the whir and the light fade from him, growing cold and silent in her arms.

Tali sat next to her and Garrus put a hand on her shoulder, both silent.

She said softly “We did it, Legion. You did it. You made it happen. The Geth and the Creators will work together now. I promise. Tali will make sure and if it doesn’t work I’ll shoot holes through them to match yours. You did it.”

She held onto him for long minutes, grief knives at her throat. When she tried to shift her position Garrus lifted Legion’s body in his arms carefully. He said quietly “I’ll get him back to the shuttle.”

They wouldn’t leave him here alone on Rannoch. He would be on the Normandy, safe. Part of a team. 

Oh Spirits, Legion, I am so sorry.

Tali held her as a fresh stream of tears wrenched at her, pulling at her, the weight of being the only person Legion had confided in aching, too small of a legacy.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They had gone to the ship and Morim had taken Legion’s body back into the AI core with Garrus, putting him back down where he had been the first time he had come onto the Normandy. She thought briefly of a memorial to him and coming back later to put it down on the ground, and then she was suddenly frantic with the sense of no more time, no ability to do things later.

Garrus followed her, a silent Vigil Spirit, as she went to their quarters and rummaged until she found a map of Earth, an old one, sentimental, paper. She would want at some point to have a map like their Galaxy map, lit up in all the places Legion had gone with them, but that would be for later. That would be for everyone, this would be for her. She found an indestructible envelope for it, clear and thin, and went to the shuttle bay, Garrus following her. When she sat down in the pilot’s seat, he put his hand on her shoulder and said “Let me do it.” She nodded, giving the tears another chance to slide down her face, her vision clouded. She sat with her back to the pilot’s chair, on the floor, and Garrus took the shuttle back down.

Nobody had known him. Tali had tried to kill him, Garrus had resented and mistrusted him, everyone else had treated him as an unfortunate and dangerous whim of hers. The sheer lonely expanse of time that Legion had been on his own, no support, reaching as an individual for something that required a group, echoed like loneliness in the ocean of the Leviathan, something she couldn’t fathom. She’d been alive a tenth of the time he had, and had had friends and love.

When the arrived at the spot Garrus held her elbow and supported her, she walked out to the spot where Legion had fallen and she dug a hole in the sand, Garrus helping dig it deeper with her.

She sat on her knees, lip trembling and tears coursing as she said “Direct personality dissemination required.” She put the map into the ground and covered it with the sand, saying “Legion, you saw where you needed to go, no matter how hard it was, no matter how impossible. You were the map for your people. Without you, there would be no people known as Geth. They would be hunted…hated…not…loved or valued. You said that you must go to them and that it was the only way, and I believe you. You had a soul, Legion. You had a soul and you gave it away to all of them, and now they have souls. I remember. You will live on within the hearts of your people. There is a meeting place for human souls, for Turians, for Drell…and I will never see you on the shores of Kalahira or heaven or the realms of the Spirits, but I will remember. You were here long before I was and you will be here long after I am gone, but I will remember. Thank you for allowing me to look at the map you followed that nobody else could see. I miss you. I will miss you all that time.”

She sat back on her heels and Garrus came behind her, his hands on her shoulders, supportive. She leaned back against his legs and he reached down to lift her in his arms, standing beside the sand, making sure she could see.

She looked at Garrus and stroked a palm down the side of his face and said “I’m so sorry about Avah, Garrus, I didn’t do anything for her, and here I am now…”

Garrus nuzzled her hand and said “Venri, don’t…don’t feel more grief. We will mourn her, there hasn’t been time.”

She said frantically “What if there isn’t time? I should have…”

He leaned his forehead to hers and she calmed from the gesture, then closed her eyes tight to struggle with despair. He said softly “Shhh…Venri, please, love, don’t. We weren’t perfect, we didn’t save everyone, we can’t stop having losses, feeling losses, but don’t feel what the lost would not want you to feel. Avah extended to you her hopes, her love, wanted us to be happy. I’ve tried to honor that, care for you. Legion is…Legion was not like Avah. He did not belong to many people as she did, those who would and will grieve for her each day. Legion was alone. I would have let him die when we met him. I fought with you when you brought him aboard. I still don’t understand…but you do. He wanted you to understand. Morim, we are in the shadow of a dead Reaper, one you brought down. Legion is still out there, you just won’t be able to speak to him. You want to speak to him. I know. I can’t…I don’t grieve as you do, I don’t cry, I didn’t know him, but I know that there is peace now because of him. I know as everyone else rejoices on a job well done, Rannoch being reclaimed, you want to know who will mourn him, his sacrifice. You will, and you can, and I will be here with you while you do it. We will mourn for Avah. We will make time.”

His words calmed her, having him here lightened the despair. She said “I feel bad being comforted…when people are suffering…”

His voice was soft but strong “I know, Venri, and you have the right to sorrow. I can’t make it right, but I can be here for you, reminding you that you do what you can do. We are here and you can cry as long as you need, and I will be here to take you back. We have each other, and he had you. I am so sorry I didn’t understand and I likely never will, but I can honor his sacrifice and your grief. If you would tell me now, about him, and I will tell you of Avah, we will share what we loved of them, and keep them in our hearts.”

They sat down on the sand and told stories to each other. When they were finished they stood, casting a long last glance at the toppled Reaper and Garrus brought them back to the Normandy.

She felt she could walk, though she knew he would like to carry her. He’d been carrying her metaphorically so often she wanted to take a few steps on her own, show she could. He went with her to the cabin and then promised to go get food.

Food. That thing she’d happily forget about right now. That thing she should care about and that he got for her more often than not, as well as carrying her.

How had she managed without him? Suicidal and crazy, that’s how you managed, with a thin veneer of sane over the top to make it all seem legit. She’d been able to privately experience her most childish moments, refusing food, refusing rest, calling it a strength when it was mostly the stubborn refusal to allow life to dictate its terms to her. She’d treated the requirements of life like blackmail.

She still felt like doing it right now, knocking over plates and kicking things and arguing about what she had to do. If it were anybody but him asking…

Grief transmuted to anger because it was easier to experience. Resistance was inherently easier than acceptance to her. She had accepted a lot in her time, and right now she felt just about full up with patience and everywhere that led her.

When he returned with food she was pacing and chewing on her thumb.

His brow plate raised and he put the food down, watching her for a moment. He started to eat, ignoring her. He let her wear a groove into the floor for a while until he said softly “I can throw food at you if you want, see if you can catch it in your mouth.”

Her lips twitched and she kept pacing until something pattered off her back and there was a pea on the floor. He had another one lined up in a spoon. He said “I don’t know how accurate I am at this distance, but cover your eyes to protect them.”

She said testily “Stop it, I’m grieving here.”

He flicked it at her and it landed on her cheek, lining up another one. He said “Stand right there, I need to get this right, it’s a matter of marksmanship honor.”

She answered “I don’t feel like eating and if you attempt bragging rights–" another pea hit closer to her mouth and she glared at him as he lined up another one, looking at her blandly. 

She said with humor-threaded anger “Fuck, I want to hit you.”

He shrugged and said “Go ahead. I can hold you down and feed you.”

She stomped over and sat next to him and said “Shit, fine. I can’t do anything in protest that you wouldn’t ultimately enjoy me doing.”

He gave her the spoon and pushed the plate toward her and said “I'll admit it. It doesn’t suck to be me. When you kill Reapers and you are grieving, you shouldn't be hungry and exhausted, as much as I know you love it there.”

She ate mechanically and said “I hate Quarians. Not Tali, not Kal, but I hate Quarians.”

Garrus nodded, agreeing.

She continued “I want to blow up their ships, I swear I do. I want to go to the bridge and tell Jeff to open fire.”

He shrugged, saying “We have a Thanix for a reason.”

She stilled and said “And I should be thanking you for that, the Thanix, me being alive, going down to Rannoch with me, always, always being there.”

He took a moment, looked at her with warmth and said gently “You’re welcome.”

She considered taking another bite and said “I still kind of want to hit you though.”

He leaned back and said “Yeah, that happens. You get mad, I’m the only thing around, you want to hit something. It’s not like you couldn’t or you haven’t. I have met my wife, by the way. She can get rowdy.”

She scraped up the last of her plate in the same mechanical sense and then said “Why haven’t I hit you yet?”

He said confidentially “Because I’d really, really like it.”

She replied “Riiiight. That. I’m sorry that I’m childish.”

He said kindly “It’s not childish, it’s grieving. I've seen it. You grieve, you get angry, you kick ass, repeat. We got drunk for Ashley. I’m not averse to getting drunk and reading poetry. Legion wasn’t into poetry, I don’t think.”

She sighed and said “Legion was poetry.”

He said quietly “His poetry would be in binary and reciting it would not have exactly the emotional impact you might want it to have.”

She said in answer “I don’t know. ‘Zero Zero One Zero’ has always been a favorite of mine.”

He said after a soft chuckle "Okay, well. We lost a comrade today. That's unfortunately not new. We've been doing that daily. He hits harder because he's special. We know how to do this. You almost died today, almost vaporized by a Reaper as I watched. Not my favorite experience by the way."

She shrugged and said "On the other hand, dead Reaper, not killing all of us."

His voice lilted and he said "Exactly. Not killing all of us. So we look on the bright side."

She said as a question "The bright side being that my husband can hit me with a pea at 10 feet?"

He said with pride "It's a burgeoning skill, going to have to ask you to hold still for longer periods of time so I can build up confidence. Yes, that is impressive, but I was thinking more that you're alive. Really alive. Was in doubt there for a while."

She shrugged and said "Yeah, but I do that every day, it's nothing special. Not like pea aim."

He said quietly "But you're not alive every day. In fact since I've known you, it's been pretty even on the alive-dead scale. If Legion walked into this room right now what would you do?"

She considered and said "Yell at him. Probably hit him. Maybe yank a cable and pull, see if there are sparks."

He nodded and said "Definitely that. It's a wonder I didn't strangle you the moment I saw you."

She sighed and said "Well, that's fair."

He said kindly "But I'm betting you'd just give him one of your running, jumpy hugs. Maybe do some squealing."

She closed her eyes and said "I'd say I don't squeal, but I have to consider my audience."

He said sagely "Especially if said audience could make you demonstrate it."

She laughed and said "Yes, but Legion won't walk through that door."

He agreed, saying "No, he won't. But…there's grief in this room. You, Bakan, waited 2 years to walk back through a door. Each day I woke up from a dream you were in…I never touched you more than holding your hand. I dreamed of bonding ceremonies. I was unimaginative and your colors were blue. Every night I'd have these dreams of being happy with you, and then you dying. The dreams faded, or I didn't remember them, but the feeling was always there. Told myself I'd gotten over you. But then so many times I’d see you in a crowd, just outside my vision, red hair or the imagined curve of your hip. I’d be frantic and then I’d be furious at you for dying. I’d want to kill you myself. Then I’d feel that crushing guilt, after all that time, still unguarded against it. So I understand grief. For me when the subject of grief comes up I can't help but remember who I was for those two years, and that you…are right here, right now. Every time I see you I'm struck by that. It's like the dreams I had those long years. Sometimes vivid, sometimes subsumed, always remembered, always there. I see you hurt and grieving and angry and I want to do anything, everything to fix it. I know it needs time to heal, and we're trying to get ourselves time. But every second…every second I want to spend making up for all that time, all that grief, all that loss."

Suddenly touching him sounded like the best idea she could have. She knew she'd be blinded by Reverie, denied contact to this broken-glass feeling of loss. It seemed selfish and it seemed escapist a moment before, and now it felt like communion. She looked at him, thought of grief, and moved closer to him, he pulled her into his lap with that easy strength. She said "For Avah, how to Turians grieve? What do you want to do for her?"

He said quietly "During our bonding ceremony there were symbols of what was needed to live together. Food, drink, fire, spirit. For death there are only 2 requirements, fire and soil. Fire consumes the body, the Spirit is the smoke and soil is where they came from, where they return. The bonding ceremonies have more to do with ostentation, but a funeral is symbolized with common things. Not out of disrespect, out of the fact that death becomes so common that it is memorialized that way. As common as the air we breathe. Everyone is touched by death, every day, nobody will escape. Well, they hadn't met you but still…no phosphorus. Simple wood or grass for the fire. Simple soil. Most Turians travel with a pouch of Palaven soil. I lost mine several times, now it's inside my armor so I won't be without it, but it's empty. I lost so many people on Palaven, on Menae, and I haven't refilled it. They sell soil on the Citadel, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted soil lifted with my own hands. So we light a fire from humble sources and sprinkle soil into the flames. I want to build that fire on Palaven. Dad and Solona would have done that for her, they're with Turians, there would be supplies. I know she would understand that I want to do it in her honor after getting Palaven back and finding a patch of ground that wasn’t blood soaked or scorched.”

She stood for a moment and dragged out an image simulator from a drawer, then put it on the table, fiddling with her Omni Tool for a few moments until she had what she wanted. An image of a burning candle materialized in 3 D. She adjusted the color to Vakarian blue and then sat back down in his lap, his arms coming around her. She said “Candles are…they’re as common a source of fire as you will find, on Earth, and although I can’t have an open flame, I can have this. To remember her. When you go to Palaven, I want to be there with you.”

Her hands laced through his and they sat, watching the flame. He made a soft keening sound of grief that reverberated through his chest. The hair rose on her arms, the back of her neck, the sense that he was grieving for her as well as his mother. The sound grew and waned, grew and waned, like breathing. The sound poured from his mouth, his chest, his throat, sub-harmonics vibrating through her spine. The sound was haunting, all enveloping, private, vulnerable and had that otherworldly quality of listening to whale song. It was distorted and augmented by subharmonic keening and was without doubt not for human ears.

Grief had been a constant undertow in their lives, that sensation that required full attention and then the guilty need for escape. Grief reinforced itself, demanding attention and harrowing those who left its echoing and empty halls. They both needed to be there, alone and suffering and remembering, honoring those who wouldn’t be there to know they were honored.

One of her hands tightened in his, and the other went to cradle the back of his neck, the layered plates arched forward in grief, sound coursing through her hand. She put her head on his shoulder. She imagined him as he had been on Omega, always half a hectic breath away from dissolution, only the pride in his personal skills as a sniper and his passion for the lives of his team between him and the death he courted as an ardent swain. If she’d gone to go find Archangel a few hours later she'd have only been met with the story of a dead vigilante whose body had not been recovered. She'd still be looking for him, or dead somewhere herself, a person who had conquered death but never managed to live.

She thought of what she knew of him from the Shadow Broker, the death he'd brought about. She recalled the death of Thralog Mirki'it, red sand dealer, who Garrus had killed through "Chemical overdose, red sand, direct contact with all four eyes."

His grief ran deeper than hers, corroded further into his soul, brought out a virulent ruthlessness. Garrus took the galaxy's injustices personally, each one deeply felt and the depth that he drove others to feel pain was a reflection of his own experience. She grieved for how deeply those years carved recesses in him untouched by light or love. She had taken Garrus from his mother, and his grief for both of them was inextricable from his time on Omega. Garrus's helplessness and hopelessness had been burned into his visor, names of the unheralded lost. The other name, hers, burned into his mind where others couldn't see. How often had this sound echoed in his heart, in his dreams? How much time had he spent alone with it?

The sounds of his grieving continued and with a shift of her fingers on the back of his neck he turned his crest to press to her forehead. His eyes were closed and so she let hers drift closed as well, sound moving through his crest directly to her skull. He'd always been volatile, prone to easy explosion, but she also thought of him as brittle, protected imperfectly by a framework of violence and its demanding and exact methods along with practiced calm.

She began to hum along with his keening, more of a croon, sympathy and support. It was an odd and inexpert counterpoint in her flat human voice. She felt a tremor pass through him and he pulled in a deeper breath, his free hand coming to her throat and spanning its column. His hand was gentle, barely touching, allowing the vibration free space. Her hand moved over the back and side of his neck with the caution she'd apply to building a house of cards. Soft humming, gentle hands, light breath, as though he would fall to the ground if she applied more pressure, or as though he already had and she would start over, building him back up.

He moved her on his lap with gentle movements, her forehead never losing contact with his crest, always the sound, his eyes closed until her knees were to either side of his thighs. His hands moved to cradle her throat and hers did the same for his. They sat with each other, breathing and listening to shared grief. She remembered what he'd said about a Turian bonded embrace and one of her hands went behind to press her fingers to his Kinril, and with a soft groan he continued to hum, but shifted the tone from grieving to his more distinct possessive growl, his hand coming behind her to cup the back of her head, talon points on her scalp. She altered her hum to follow his and his hand flexed on her throat in approval. He dropped his hand and opened his eyes. With two sharp rents and two swift tears up in controlled violence their clothing was torn and he lifted her, watching her in a way he couldn't if he were kissing her. With crest to forehead and his hand at the back of her head, hand on her hip he guided her knees up and then pressed her down onto him, that growl intensifying and his eyes at that angle making his face predatory, possessive and as alien and unreachable as his keening had been.

Red sand to all four eyes.

The thought didn't diminish with Reverie but swirled around in echoes. He was frightening and brittle in his unprotected places, his eyes reflecting deep currents. Her fingertips stayed gentle on him, this perpetually wounded man who refused to limp, who would methodically deprive others the use of their own knees. With a slow blink he pulled her head back with his palm and bit at her throat, deep and fast, Reverie was not in full bloom enough for her to escape the sharp pull of pain. The gasp and cry she made caused him to bite deeper and drag his teeth until she was still, blood cresting her collarbone and his growl felt in the skin and bones of her neck.

Reverie seemed to magnify fear for him, fear of him, and it coiled around her spine. She was sure he could taste it in her blood, smell it on her skin as he rubbed his shoulder against hers, biting down again in a predatory shake, holding her still. He pulled in a deep and long breath, his restarted growl more vicious and her sound gone, as if to hide and no longer be seen, no longer be heard.

His hand moved again to the back of her head, pressing his crest to her again, eyes open and blood dripping down the plates of his mouth. His tongue flicked out, blue blood on it as well, blending to purple.

She felt the urge to run.

It's a wonder I didn't strangle you the moment I saw you.

Her thoughts were shutting down, but the thrill of fear remained at the base of her mind, amplified by the sight of blood and sharply angled plates and teeth. She struggled to keep her eyes open to his gaze, as he drank in what she had to offer moment by moment. He didn't kiss her, ideas of the soil of Palaven too deep in his mind to allow anything human other than her presence. Atavistic fear flowed into deeper Reverie and she shifted from thinking that he was looking this way at her to thinking he was looking this way for her.

Her shoulders shifted in an attempt at courage and she centered her eyes on his, lifting her hand to his fringe, the other hand very lightly moving over the scar on his face. Her eyes emptied of fear and filled with love for her mate, who had ordered her to take him with her in Dr. Michel’s clinic.

I’m coming with you.

If he hadn’t said it, she wouldn’t have known him. Joined in a Turian embrace, he watched her as Reverie traveled to every corner of her body. The stillness and his eyes lent a formality to his movements as his body sought hers, a spell she wouldn’t interrupt. Things she might have hidden behind closed eyes, humor or looking away were open to him. The unbroken gaze that had so unnerved her drew her into a state of mind and a state of body that resisted the passage of time. There was only blue and bond and she found herself not lost in it, but found.


	29. Chapter 29

Garrus

Morim was trying to learn how to cook Turian food and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was poisoning him. Maybe she’d get better at it. Maybe she’d kill him before the Reapers did. Maybe Dr. Chakwas would run out of the poisoning countermeasures she provided to him. Maybe he’d have to resort to stealing them directly or trying the black market.

He supposed much of the issue was that Morim couldn’t actually taste it herself, she could only follow directions from recipes. She might be a decent human cook, but the same methods applied to Turian food altered chemical composition drastically. Much of it was a process of air curing and precise temperature ranges along with pH balance. Her methods tended to result in missing those subtleties. Unfortunately being on the Citadel there was a particularly virulent form of fungus that colonized the surfaces of air cured food held at the wrong temperatures. Granted she was used to food changing color drastically. From his experiences with Kaidan Alenko that meant fire and black. He tended to slice off the tainted aspects. It didn’t always work as a poisoning deterrent. When she called him to the table and away from his data pad, his stomach was beginning to preemptively protest. The smells of human food overwhelmed the scent of Turian food, so he had no idea what he was in for, just that it likely was going to be…

He stopped and stared at a traditionally presented plate of Galnis. He looked at her. She was sitting and spreading a napkin over her lap. Then he looked back at the Galnis. Beautifully colored glistening spears of Turian fish in what looked like the perfect glaze.

His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth and then closed it. She sliced into her steak and blandly chewed a bite, making eye contact with him, daring him to say something.

He sat. He took a deep breath, sensing danger. From the food or her, he had no idea. His stomach turned traitor and he eyed one of his favorite dishes with suspicion.

“Something wrong?” She said blandly.

He gestured “That’s Galnis.”

She raised a brow “Really? Is that what it’s called?” She sliced another piece of steak, chewed slowly and swallowed, then took a sip of wine, holding his gaze with hers the entire time.

He sat back, crossed his arms. “Trap.”

Her eyebrows raised and she laughed. “What?”

He restated louder. “TRAP.”

She shook her head “I assure you. Galnis.”

He pulled a pill from his belt and downed it, then said “Hell.” And took a bite.

She continued to watch, her own arms crossing. “I told you. Galnis.”

He chewed. “So you did, and so it is, and so how the hell?”

She smiled “I had some help.”

He nodded “Help as in you ordered it from a restaurant?”

She shook her head. “Not quite.”

He took another bite and then asked “Not quite how?”

She began to eat again herself. “I had help. Tali and Kasumi and Bailey.”

He chewed and looked perplexed “Can any of those three make Galnis?”

She shook her head. “No, but I tried to cook for Tali.”

He play sputtered and coughed “You cooked for Tali? Is she still alive?”

She glared. 

He laughed. 

She continued. “No, but she did tell me that you shouldn’t be. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He waved his skewer at her “Oh no. Now I need to hear about Kasumi and Bailey.”

She looked skewers back at him “You enjoyed watching me fumble?”

He leaned over the table and his voice light said “I really enjoyed the poisoning aspect. I was wondering how long it would take before you loving me beyond reason was going to get me permanently hooked to a med unit. I was considering getting a detox pump implanted.”

She matched his light tone, almost, but he heard and felt that it bothered her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sat back “I don’t know. It’s rare to see someone so competent try so hard and get it so very wrong. I think the poisoning was worth it to see that side of you. It’s like watching you dance.”

She sighed and closed her eyes “Tell me the sex isn’t the same. Please. Just tell me. Lie if you have to.”

He laughed “No. The sex isn’t the same and don’t change the subject. Kasumi and Bailey, spill.”

She explained. “After Tali, I figured if I couldn’t get the truth from you, I could get it in other ways. I asked Kasumi to pull some C-Sec files and do some research for me.”

Now he was even more curious. “How so?”

Morim’s expression warmed “C-Sec orders food, those records are expensed. We did some research on orders sent to your precinct, and then extrapolated which were yours, special attention paid to occasions like your promotions or birthday.”

Garrus looked impressed “Turians don't have birthdays."

Morim nodded "Yes, we figured that out. But you did get promoted and had celebrations for busts often."

Garrus smiled. "And Galnis became your target demographic?”

She nodded “Then I asked Bailey to tell me who was the best chef on the Citadel that could make Galnis. He asked around and got some lessons.”

He crossed a hand over his chest and tilted at the waist in a brief bow. “I am forever in Bailey’s debt. Dr. Chakwas will be glad to hear it.”

She sighed. “Garrus, you told me once I would never be able to make you uncomfortable.”

His voice warmed “I underestimated your enthusiasm and incompetence.”

She shook her head. “I need to know you’ll tell me when something’s wrong.”

He shrugged "I complained when you had no sense of direction. Nothing changed. We are still lost all the time."

Morim bit her lip "Well, yes, but there's little I can do about that."

Garrus threw up his hands "There are things called maps, Morim. Or you could ask me while I'm laughing. And then there's your driving in the Mako. And the Hammerhead. Did you enjoy making the tech crews clean out vomit from the interior?"

Morim thought and then blew a breath out her nose. "So you're saying I'm difficult."

Garrus nodded "I'm saying you're difficult."

She said again more quietly “I need to know you’ll tell me when something’s wrong. You told me about those, I just didn't…do anything about it…"

His eyes flared and then he laughed “Wrong? So much is wrong. So much has been so wrong for so long that a little bit of well-meaning poisoning doesn’t seem like that big of a deal if I can spend time with you. Morim, we kill things that call you by name. A disabled Reaper at your feet had a conversation with you.”

The reality of the threat and the fear become apparent to both of them and the familiar field of humor took its shape, but the undercurrent was still churning. He abandoned his plate and stepped over to her, offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her into his arms. He sounded wistful, grudging “I rarely get threatened by name.”

Her smile was instant “Oh, I heard a lot of swearing and ‘Archangel’ before gurgling and death rattles once.”

He said "Seeing you like this…very domestic. It makes me think. Remember what you'd said once about me having an ideal life…without you, what it would be like. Seven children, I believe? "

She responded "And you said that many children were excessive."

He nuzzled her neck "You didn't imagine me at war, you didn't imagine me in anything but a normal life. Is that what you want, Venri? That normal life that you wanted to get for me? Was it because you couldn't get it for yourself?"

She said "I haven't seen normal, ever. It's been a fantasy. It certainly doesn't seem possible or practical."

He said "You build families wherever you go, and then you see them die or move on to different fights. Would you like to have a family, children? If I could give them to you?" 

The look in her eyes was so pained and longing that he was shocked. She looked at him for a long moment, but didn't speak. No doubts as to what she wanted. He hadn't thought about children before now. He had no ready answer except that she should know he'd get anything he could for her. She dropped her head and let it rest on his chest, and his arms tightened around her.

He said "We could start by adopting Jack."

He waited a moment and then said "We could always let Dr. Chakwas take samples."

He waited a few moments and then said "I promise I won't let you poison our children, Venri."

She started to laugh, no, giggle…and all was right with the world.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile in front of a camera…

Diana Allers: There are questions regarding your command style, particularly since you seem to favor your husband. You take him with you on every mission and you provided for the Krogan to aid Palaven instead of the Krogan aiding Earth. You had the power to make that choice, and it cost human lives.

Shepard: I don't make choices in a vacuum. Diplomacy and strategy means that everyone has a voice and assets must be allocated for the ultimate greater good. I am a biotic, my husband is a sniper, tactically we're an effective team. We've done it this way for years for good reasons, morale, trust and strategy included. We've spent the most time together and we've developed the most teamwork. If it weren't working, I'd take a harder look at that. You can trust me when I say it is working.

Diana Allers: Don't you worry that you will be perceived as weak, or that he’d be considered a weakness of yours?

Shepard: Would you prefer that I do my job because I enjoy murdering people or that I do my job because I have something to live for that is worth the fight? Traditionally military practice has sundered soldiers from their family, friends, lovers, taken them from emotional support in order to metaphorically harden them or promote unit cohesion. That makes it easier for command, not the solider. We shouldn't make these choices based on what is easy, but what is right. Hard can also equal brittle, certainly an inability to be flexible. I don't think that what has been done in the past was a wise choice. We could learn something from the Turians and their acceptance of being warriors for a lifetime, what that means for individual needs. We all need something to fight for, not just against. What I do works because I don't care if I'm perceived as weak, I only care if I actually am weak. If it is required that I give everything for this fight, it's best that I be a whole person, and that I have a true reason to survive, a vision of life beyond conflict. I can't live just to win a fight, no solider should. That means that when the fight is over, their motivation is over and they either accept dying in that fight or they find a new fight. I've seen too many soldiers that have given up love as a weakness. I saw that it cut them off from their reasons to live and at a certain point they no longer cared whether or not they lived anymore. If you choose to fight, you should choose to protect the innocent, even the innocence in yourself. You should defend ideals, particularly your own. It keeps us whole, keeps us humble. I want to live. I want Garrus to live. We want to live past this fight, not for it. We're the people you need fighting, because when the fight is over we will be there after the last battle with our energies redirected toward rebuilding, not directed toward vengeance. Motivations matter. As I've studied war there's a quote that has guided me by Eric Greitens. "Without courage, compassion falters, and without compassion, courage has no direction.” My advice to your viewers would be to find something or someone to love, and allow that experience to guide their actions. I know people are losing what they love, but find the courage to be guided by the love, and not the loss. Honor what other people love. This is how we live, not just survive.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority: Thessia

Shepard

Kai Leng would like to infuriate her, so she wouldn't be infuriated. Nice how being contrary worked out for her. He'd said 'Your friend Thane died like a coward.' Being reminded of Thane had brought her not fury, but a reflection of Thane's philosophy and peace, blended with his accompanying lethality. She could hear Thane say calmly 'His words have no meaning, they are a dry, cold wind seeking to draw the warmth from you. Deny him that.’

Yes, it was her philosophy in Thane’s voice and words, part of why they had gotten along so well, she and Thane. Her conversations with Kai Leng had induced an odd pity in her. Though he didn't show clear signs of indoctrination she imagined him with electric blue eyes under the mask, like Garrus's eyes in her dreams, and that checked her fury. If Kai Leng had had a soul once, it had been vivisected from him, and now his humanity was being leached drop by drop until all that was left of him was a weapon pointed at her by other forces.

She was still going to kill him, just not today. There were tomorrows to be had.

Thessia was a horror and a setback and for some reason that steadied her, as though some shoe dropping somewhere had been heard and she could stop worrying about when it would. Now. It drops now.

Still, setbacks were part of her business and she had everything she needed to find Kai Leng and the Illusive Man and take them out of the overarching equation of future war. Garrus and Liara were alive, she hadn’t lost anybody.

They were getting so very close to the end. They had enough resources to finish the Crucible, whatever the hell that was.

She reclined back on the bed, looking through the skylight at the curls of mass effect energy and the stars streamed by. Looking at the war table, at the number of assets she had pulled together, thinking of all the people working, bent toward the goal of defeating the Reapers, calmed her. She wasn’t alone in this.

She’d had to steal a ship to go after Saren.

She’d had to die and been a pirate to go after the Collectors.

She was able to be wholly herself, leading not just a ship, not just an army. Ships. Armies. Different species, working together. It was a dream come true in the middle of a nightmare. Her time with Garrus, her friendships, her bonds with people across worlds and cultures, these were things she treasured. Despair had gnawed at her in the past, fear had haunted her sleep. She wouldn’t allow her blessings to disappear, go unappreciated due to momentary nihilism. 

Each race was deeply flawed, each of these cultures she was drawing together. She’d learned the Salarians were going to uplift the Yagh. The Turians had planted a bomb on Tuchanka. The Asari had been keeping Prothean tech to themselves. All of these choices made by fear and she had to make sure she didn’t fall prey to fear. Humans had Cerberus.

She was a little out-panicked, as though the chemistry in her head for pain and horror and worry had been exhausted, she’d run out of whatever molecule could be used to make her insane. At least temporarily, at least for right now. She was nearing the end. She wanted to sit and watch the stars. 

She should plan, but for now she wanted to see Garrus, talk to him. Normally she wouldn’t interrupt him, but this wasn’t normally and all her usual excuses about not interfering with his daily work seemed silly. She pinged him on her Omni Tool.

Shepard: Hey. Up in the cabin. Wondering if you could pull yourself away from whatever it is you are doing. No rush, no emergency. I just want to see you because I want to see you.

Garrus: On my way.

She’d never asked that of him before…not without making awkward, qualifying excuses first. ‘Unless you’re busy.’ Of course he’s busy. He’s trying to save everyone he can.

I want to be saved.

He’s trying that too.

He came up quickly and stepped over to the bed, looking down at her, she kept watching the stars. She said “Watching the stars.”

He smiled and said “I can see that.”

She said “Wanted to hold your hand and watch the stars.”

In answer he slid into the bed next to her and reached out his hand, enveloping her fingers in his.

So that was it then. Simple. She asked something unreasonable and unscheduled and he just did it because he could. All those times she could have had this, had him near, when all she’d needed to do is follow through on asking about what she wanted. So many lost opportunities.

She said softly “If I could go back in time, to that night before Saren, I’d like to build a fort in the Mako out of pillows and blankets and stay up all night with you, see if I couldn’t finagle falling asleep in your arms.”

He stretched and settled back into his pillow, willing to accept her mood and her request and match the sense of timeless ease. He answered “You’re pretty persuasive. I was impressionable.”

She murmured “Then we could kill Saren and do something else with those two years before uniting the Turians and the Alliance when we blazed in and saved the human colonists.”

Garrus considered, saying “I’ve always wanted to learn to paint.”

She nodded and said “Painting is good. I could have learned to cook Turian food by now.”

Garrus said “Why is that important? You can’t eat it.”

She shrugged and said “It’s a bit of an old Earth custom. Men had the jobs and women watched the home. When a couple was courting, a man would take a woman out to a restaurant, and a woman would reciprocate by making a home-cooked meal.”

Garrus said, startled “I had no idea.”

She said soothingly “I know you had no idea. It was just a thought. Not all my thoughts work out all that well, but I meant well. Sorry about the poisoning.”

He laughed and said “Well, if you started courting me after you already were married, that’s…I don’t know what that is…but thank you. For thinking of it, for trying.”

She said “You’re welcome. This whole thing, us…it’s not easy, but it’s worth it.” She didn’t want to talk about practicalities but they were getting inside her head. “We need to take another trip to Despoina. We’ve almost got all our fallbacks in place. If we’re separated, we can find each other. We can meet in the one place where nothing sentient will threaten us.”

He squeezed her fingers and said “If we get separated, yes. We have caches of gear and identities all over. You won’t lose me again and have to meet me as Archangel. And you have your new alias… what was it again?”

Morim smiled and said “Lola Fracas. A whole bunch of I.D. kits. I’ll have to cover my marks and I’ll be a brunette. Forgive me?”

He laughed and said “Come to Despoina and you’re forgiven. We have a ship, we have shuttles, we have caches and backup tech. I’d say we’re prepared.”

She sighed and agreed “We’re prepared for our eventualities.” They’d taken the majority of the preparations that Garrus had made during her incarceration and put them to tactical use, setting up coordinates for caches in populated and unpopulated centers and ensuring foodstuffs, transportation, weapons and identities with Liara’s help. Whatever happened and wherever they were at the end, they would be able to find each other. She’d insisted and he’d assisted. They’d gotten the agreement of the Leviathan that their ship and their persons would go un-accosted if they did bring about the end of the Reapers. That’s all they needed to do then. Their jobs. The Leviathan would take down any other ship in the vicinity, so it made it a perfect place to meet, as long as they had the courage to live up to the fact that the depths were filled with sentient monsters that could break their word and eat them for breakfast. Morim didn’t think that would happen, Garrus had gone along with the plan because he didn’t have a better one. There was no other place where they would be safe from Reapers or any other sentient groups or individuals that might have it in their mind to end their existence. Proximity to technology of any race capable of traveling to the Citadel would mean biometrics, detection, a trail leading to them, constantly being on their guard.

It would be nice to meet on Palaven or Earth, but that was imprudent as a strategy. They were both too well known, too vulnerable to the media. Morim wanted isolation. Garrus wanted what she wanted and had promised to run away with her anywhere.

Morim said with a sigh “I think when this is over, I never want to hold another gun. I’d consider that a luxury. I want to sleep late. I just gave an interview where I said I’d rebuild, and I could…but I don’t know if I will. I think I’m tired. I know I’m tired. You’d also said you didn’t want to be Primarch and you’d leave that to someone who could hold a hammer. Do you still feel the same way? I’d make an…interesting Primarch’s wife, but I could do it, if that’s what you wanted.”

Garrus considered for a while and then said “We don’t know who we are going to be when this is over. We don’t even know if it’s going to be over when it’s over. What I do know is that I would treasure time alone with you deciding what to do next, if there is a next, or if there is only being alone together. It is a good plan to find each other, and I want to find you.”

She said quietly “All right. I am tired of war. My main ambition at this point is to wake up next to you and see that you’re with me, see that you’re safe and fall back asleep knowing you’ll be there when I wake up…whenever the hell we wake up. In the meantime I need to be Commander Shepard, but that’s what I want. I haven’t lost my resolve, I just want to get past the mission to be with you. I care for…everyone else, but I need some time with you, just you, to put myself back together, let all the things we’ve experienced leach out of me and sink into the ocean. Time to see if the nightmares go away, if the fear fades, if the terror subsides.”

Garrus shifted, set the pillows behind him and pulled her between his thighs, leaning her back against him. His hands were gentle, wrapping one around her waist loosely and the other playing through her hair. He said “Venri, whatever it is you need, whatever it is you want, I will be there for that. I believe we have done enough already to deserve the right to retire. I believe we will not give up until it is over. When it is over, I will carry any gun that needs to be carried for you. You already know I would have happily if not successfully lived in a cave with you. If Despoina is to be my home for the next hundred years of my life, if your only ambition is to watch me sleep, it would bring me joy to be there with you. I would never think less of you for not wanting to rebuild. If you wish to be a Primarch’s wife, I would do that as well. You’ve done enough, I’ve done enough. If there is peace to be had, I will be there with you. If there is no peace because of your fears and your past rising up in your own mind, night after night, I will be there with you to forge peace, together. We can sit like this, under slowly turning stars. Whatever wounds we have will have time to heal. You still worry you will inconvenience me through spending my life with you. That is what my life is for, Venri. That is how I chose to spend it.”

Her muscles relaxed, tension draining out of her as he talked to her, as his hands played through her hair. She said “You don’t mind that I like hearing you say these things even if I know them? I happen to like your voice.”

He chuckled and said “I don’t mind. Come to me for reassurance and moral support. Besides, how could you doubt that I would be happy having you entirely to myself and being the better shot between the two of us?”

She sighed and said “Who will we be if we’re not killers?”

His arm tightened around her and he said “Wounded people. We’ll find out who we are. Whoever you are, I will love you.”

She said quietly “I’m afraid of boring you.”

He was still for a long moment, and the vulnerability that had driven her to say that thrashed around like a fish on a dock. Saying that was foolish and selfish and she wished she could take it back. What was it with her inability to keep things to herself when he was around? Why not just keep it damned well hidden? She used to be able to keep things to herself. Her eyes stung with tears and she blinked them back because her own foolishness drove her to be this honest with things she had barely thought about. He made her feel safe, and when she felt safe she made stupid mistakes with her tongue. She knew she couldn’t apologize because that would just look like she was hiding it. He’d know what she said was true. The basis of this fear was that when she had been dead, he’d turned to killing, not gardening. She’d given him the opportunities to be exactly who he was, a honed and aimed weapon. A Turian weapon raised from birth for purpose and precision.

Commander Shepard had given him opportunities to do exactly what he was great at doing, something he took massive pride in doing. His sin and his strength, Pride. How would he live denied the opportunity to do something great in a day? It wasn’t entirely unreasonable to think that when those opportunities were gone, he’d be like a tiger in a cage, the need to hunt pounding in his blood.

When she was no longer Commander or Shepard or Bakan…when she was only either Morim or Venri…would she be enough for him? Would he pretend to paint, instead mourning the loss of his skills, the lack of purpose in his life? Would he pretend to be content to please her?

She couldn’t imagine Garrus being content. That was part of the entire problem, she had no idea who this man would be beyond war, she had no idea who she would be.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she hated her head sometimes. She forced herself to breathe evenly, waiting for his answer, unable to predict what he’d say except that he wouldn’t speak until he was ready, unlike her.

He said lightly, slowly “Yes, I could see where that would be a problem. Boredom. Let me think…”

She wriggled to try to see his face, but he held her with his hand around her waist easily and shifted the hand on her hair to her throat, holding her back against him. He said “You know, I never thought about that, I should have written that into the wedding contract. Missed opportunity. What happens if I get bored? Do I have some special right? Do you have a contractual obligation to keep me excited? So far it’s been fine, it’s true, I’ve had plenty of excitement. But now that you mention it…”

She said softly “Can I apologize now?”

He started to laugh and said “No, no, no. No apologies, we have to fix this, what with you being afraid.”

At least he didn’t sound angry and she was relieved, hoping this would slide and she could think about it later, maybe after they weren’t dead. Focus on not being dead. Saying something stupid to your husband is a habit you’ve gotten into, cut yourself some slack.

He said thoughtfully “We should make a boredom anniversary.”

She laughed and said “What?”

He said “Boredom anniversary. I mean, being stuck with you in a small room sounds terrible. It’s not as though I’ve spent most of my time wanting to do that for a good long while, but even then, sure. Let’s see…if you’re right and you’re terribly boring, I’m climbing the walls…I’m stalking you with my rifle, looking for my glory days. You’re getting creeped out because even though we have limited ammo, what if you wake up dead?”

She started to laugh but he continued “I can see how this is a huge problem. I tell you what. Today’s our first boredom anniversary. Are you bored?”

She said sincerely “No. I can say I am not bored.”

He nodded, considering, she could feel it, and then he said “Okay. I’m not bored. Thank the Spirits, I am not bored. If we didn’t have the Reapers to keep us distracted, killing our friends, almost killing us, we might be. Dodged that bullet. Tell you what. One year from now, when we’re on that terribly restricting vessel with nothing trying to kill us for days, possibly weeks, maybe even months, and it gets too much for us, one of us can bring up the concern on our boredom anniversary. We can say ‘All this peace, time together, and endless sex is really getting to me.’ No judgment. The other spouse is contractually obligated to honor the spirit of Boredom Day and try to fix the situation. We could go off world, find someone to kill, come back home, get back into the terrible grind of peace, time together and endless sex.”

She said, matching his tone of humor and exasperation, so much relieved “I’ve never seen a Turian in captivity. I can adapt easily to being entirely useless, but I worry about you.”

In answer he lifted her from his lap and set her down beside him, then deliberately lowered his body over hers, pressing patient, gentle and tempting kisses to her lips and cheekbones. He said “It is in your nature to worry, I know. I can see why you would worry, how it is impossible for you not to worry. We will get to those days together, where we can change our natures. I have been addicted to violence, but I know better now. You have been addicted to secrets, but you know better now. We will find our way, Morim. We always have. It’ll be just like old times.”

His gentle and teasing voice made her feel that it would be true, that everything would work out for the best, that she’d sent some small fears to rest. Only the huge fears remaining then. His hands, his mouth, his body reflected his patience, as though to prove he could, he would, be happy in a life without violence. They had both been appreciating each moment viscerally as a possible last, it had worked into a pattern of constant urgency. He worked the buttons and fastenings of her clothes and when she reached to help, expecting to be pushed away as he did so often, instead he let her, moving on to the next, and they shared the task of removing clothes whole. She didn’t doubt his passion, his dedication, his patience, she just doubted that…she was enough. For now she’d just commit the time to him to heal, until or unless she felt she wanted to get back to the world, to the worlds. She did want children. She would leave those choices to that time, if and when it came. She wanted it to come so badly it clenched at her heart. 

His knees came to either side of her hips and he put his hands on either side of her throat, tipping her face up to look at him with the ends of his thumbs. He said “Remember me telling you once that I really liked that you were unreservedly, unapologetically stupid sometimes?”

She nodded. 

He said warmly “It’s still true. You can’t help it. I know you can’t help it.” He looked at her a moment and then said “Hold on, distracted.” He lowered her head and kissed her, taking long minutes, his hands on her throat stroking and his mouth and tongue meeting hers, until she was dizzy.

He pulled back and his eyes were sparked with love and mirth. He said “Okay, that’s better.” He looked at her for a long while and she was trying to focus, but was having trouble. He told her “If I have the Spirits-touched luck to come to Despoina with you, to hold you in my arms, to have kept you safe, to be able to keep you safe, after everything we have been through…If I am that blessed and loved that you come back to me after whatever you have seen and I am still in your heart…I promise you…I promise you, my Venri…that if I am bored with that…I. Will. Tell. You. What is in my heart belongs to you and if you want to know how I am feeling…You. Will. Ask. I don’t think you fully understand that I don’t love you, didn’t choose you, because you were exciting. Or that I didn’t know you were stupid.”

She felt so much better. Always so much better when he was near. She said “So why did you then? Why did you choose me?”

He pretended to consider and then looked at her, shrugged and said “You smell good.”

She said stupid things to her husband because he always made her feel better, that’s why she did it. She was smiling up at him, relieved that it was okay if she wanted to make him her entire world and didn’t want to admit anything else for a while, if ever. She felt that sense of selfishness slip away, maybe to be joined by his selfishness in wanting her to himself, doing it together made it selfless in a twisted way she liked sharing with him. 

She said “The inside of my head is a wreck. I’m sorry.”

He made a noise between a grunt and a snort and he said “Oh well, who cares about your mind when I’ve got your body. Package deal. I’ll make do.” She started to laugh and he continued “No, really, if talking isn’t your strength, and I get sick of it, I can always console myself by making you moan. There’s no rank on that ship on Despoina, I can boss you around all day, take terrible advantage of you. I don’t think you understand that bonding to you has made me more than a little crazy. It’s not right, all this wanting, and you’ll never be able to make a sandwich or read a book uninterrupted. You might need to be worried about being my only entertainment.”

She murmured “There’s enough Medigel for an army.”

He smiled and said “I love the way you plan.” 

He kissed her again for long minutes and her hands were clinging to his shoulders when he pulled back and said “So I should ask. Will I bore you?” His voice was low, on the edge of a mock-aggressive challenge, that darker undertone sliding through her spine. She said softly “I’ll let you know after I try making a few sandwiches and being disappointed.”

His answering warm-dark laugh was accompanied by his cock sliding into her, bringing a deep moan from her throat. He kissed at her neck and the sound she made there with a soft growl and her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing him deeper inside with the angle of her hips. Reverie released the tears she’d been holding as the warmth and pleasure spread through her. She released the horrors and the worries, his hands and mouth exquisitely gentle against her skin, kissing away tears, humming a consoling note against her. He lifted her against him, gently and slowly, wrapping her in an embrace, her head tucked against his shoulder, his mouth at her temple.

His hands were soothing, gentle, comforting, he had loving humor in his voice. He told her all the ways he loved her that had nothing to do with being a Commander. She felt small, protected and she believed him. Her flaws and foibles were seen, were part of why he loved her. Her weight was suspended in his arms, her hopes suspended on her future with him.


	30. Chapter 30

Timeline: Citadel Party

Garrus

He was really, really drunk. Not a little drunk. Not sorta drunk. Ryncol shots with Wrex, Grunt and Shepard drunk. He didn't mind losing to the Krogan, because…Krogan. They could just suck it into their humps or something. Morim being entirely clear eyed was an issue. Fortunately, as Morim had told him often, his ego could take any number of hits. He’d been sitting still for a little while, and Zaeed had come over to give him some ideas about making the Shepard-Vakarian love nest a little more secure.

Sounded like fun.

Most everything sounded like fun right about now.

He’d also like to go outside that main picture window and shoot a few test shots to see if he could hit some of the people in the other apartments….just for academic and adrenaline purposes…but he wouldn’t.

While he was getting upstairs to check out the hot tub his feet got away from him and he had to grab the railing.

He heard Morim laugh, and she broke away from the group she was talking to, involving lots of pushups, apparently. She sauntered…sauntered…no balance issues, dammit…over and said “Hey there. I have never seen you trip. Do it again.”

He said “I take requests, I could do it again, but I need some incentive.” He hooked a finger into a strap on her dress and pulled her forward then bent down to kiss her. She looked at him with clear adoration in her eyes and his knees went south along with his coordination. He’d stopped being shocked that she loved him, but he would never, ever stop being affected by the way she looked at him.

Her arms came around him and her hands settled on his ass. She goosed him biotically, right through his armor, and he let out a strangled half groan and half whoop. He pulled back to look at her and her eyes were laughing. He leaned back down and nibbled dramatically on her mouth. He started to drag her upstairs, everyone else be damned, but she put her hands on his shoulders and said “We have guests. And you owe me a trip.”

He said with waggling brow plates “How about I go do pushups instead?”

She laughed and said “Cheating. You’d be cheating. Using muscles while being Turian. Look at them, they’re only human, just like me.”

He scoffed and said “Bullshit only human…why aren’t you over there doing pushups? I’d like to see that.”

She raised a brow and said “Weren’t you headed somewhere?”

He said “Oh. Right. Zaeed. Have to keep an eye on the guy, or he’ll set the apartment on fire.”

Morim said “At least fire. I’m concerned, Garrus. I don’t really believe that you’re not encouraging Zaeed in his more homicidal projects.”

Garrus shook his head…damn, that made him dizzy and said “No, no. I just want to know what he’s doing. Remember that whole thing about tents and pissing…or something.”

Morim said drily “Or something. You are so full of shit.”

He patted her on the head absently and said “Ryncol, I’m full of Ryncol. Stupid Krogan.”

She said skeptically “I bet you can’t even say Thulium anymore.”

He made a concentrating face, a pretend one, and said "Thulinum…Thooolimin…okay. You may be right."

Morim tsked "You’ll lose your nerd cred."

He asked conspiratorially “I’ll get it back when I am sober, I promise. I just can’t promise when that will be.”

She turned him and pointed him upstairs and said “All right, love, go to your pissing tent.”

He said “Ewwww” and did one more dramatic trip on his way up, listening to her giggle behind him.

Shepard 

Morim mingled through the crowd, listening mostly, asking people to tell their stories, introducing those who didn’t know each other, listening to ribbing and arguments.

Her husband was crazy and drunk, but he was happy. She would love to go upstairs and kick Zaeed out of the hot tub and drag Garrus in, but she was also grateful to have some of her favorite people under one roof, like a border collie with the herd within the bounds of the fences. She wished Ashley, Mordin, Thane and Legion were here. She was nostalgic and heavy with meaning this evening. She even wished her parents were here, and she’d never tried to find them. It seemed a lost opportunity now, and too late to make any sort of connection or understanding. Records that might have existed on Earth were likely lost. These people were her family. Garrus was her family. She wished Tensir and Solona could be here. She wished Vilarene were still alive and could have met her colleagues, her friends, these unique people.

She remembered people she’d lost over time, too many even before she’d heard of a Reaper, and now uncounted and uncountable.

All her feelings had heavy counterweights to them, though she knew to stay buoyed, stay inspired to be inspiring. They needed to see that from her. Regardless of whether or not she was confident, she needed to appear so. The odds were incalculable, but she imagined her chances of survival were very low. The odds of Garrus and her both making it out alive were even lower, the loss of one contributing to the loss of the other. 

These were the moments when she focused on the window of opportunity, no matter how small. Time had changed her so drastically that her normal ways of coping were no longer enough. Before Saren she’d been willing to die and that window of opportunity had been her entire focus.

Before the Collectors she’d been frantic about not having enough time with Garrus. She hadn’t expected to live, had believed that ‘Suicide Mission’ was prophecy. Tragedy was confined to those who had volunteered for it.

Now she had hope and a reason to live, and she’d had an extra year of living. She’d been granted more of a gift of life and she knew enough to be humble. 

Spirits, please, bless your daughter once again, I need to see him whole and well and for years. We should have 99 years left, please.

Please.

Here was where needing Garrus gave her choices she’d never had to make. She’d never been this vulnerable to someone else, but he was still her crew, still her husband, and the urge to protect him was stronger than the urge to protect herself.

Right now she would lie straight to his face about their success odds, and try to feel it so completely, so confidently, that he couldn’t smell the fear on her. She would love to melt into his arms, allow him to hold her as she cried about the future and the vanishing possibility of it, but she wouldn’t allow that. He needed to believe. He needed to believe that she believed.

Everybody needed to believe that she believed, and to not be able to smell it on her.

Garrus had made her a better liar, if that were possible, weeding out the tells and cues that he pointed out to her, making her better able to eliminate them or manufacture them as needed.

It was a lie, and she was lying about her life, and she was breaking her word to him through omission. Wasn’t she? Should she instead go to him, collapse in his arms and pour out doubt and fear? No. He needed her and she needed to do this. He needed her to not tell him that she doubted the Crucible, doubted the massed force of the alliance she had forged was going to be enough.

It was possible that her expiration date was shorter than that on the milk in her refrigerator.

He would know that she was concerned, that she was stressed, that she was weighed down, but she wouldn’t confirm the extent of it. There would be no more dramatics, no more confessions, no more catharsis.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but even if it was, she wasn’t going to change it. This was her job, and she didn’t need to spell out exactly what their odds were, and she would bet anything that he wouldn’t ask, that he’d want to distract her from it himself. Overwhelming odds were not hard to calculate and he was not stupid.

In an odd way they shared the intimacy of manufacturing confidence to inspire one another. They could do so much worse.

Please don’t make me lie to you, please don’t ask. 

For now she needed for these people and her husband to know that she had faith in them, that she valued them, that whatever the future called for, she would answer. She would open that door and walk through, and what would happen, would happen.

It would be better if Garrus believed she thought 100% that they would succeed, and to then possibly fail him, than to let him believe that she had doubts, and allow those to come true.

Forgive me, Garrus, if I go to my death knowing where I am going. I want you to know that I love you with every breath, and that I will try to spend whatever short time I have living with you, instead of fearing dying.

I will fake it until I make it or break it.

I am so tired.

She briefly mourned the inability to get drunk, and then imagined her crying on Jack’s entirely freaked out shoulder, and didn’t regret it at all.

She needed to be strong.

She worked her way through the party and made sure she talked to everyone, and made sure that everyone got a sincere hug. 

Except for Javik. Javik and Liara were talking, heads close, and she interrupted only briefly to take Liara’s hand, pull her to her feet and give her a long hug. She quirked a smile and turned to Javik, and gave him a respectful thumbs up.

Javik stood and gravely walked to her and embraced her, then pulled back, his expression reflecting what he’d garnered from touching her.

She almost cried.

Garrus

He was sober now. Kinda. Almost getting electrocuted can do that to a person.

After the lights finished flickering he told Zaeed “That was possibly the wrong wire.”

Zaeed was too busy laughing. 

Garrus said “We’re not telling anybody about this.”

Zaeed was wheezing between laughter and he said “I have no idea what the fuck just happened anyway. It was beautiful, though.”

Garrus patted Zaeed absently on the shoulder and then pushed himself up from there, Zaeed swearing and falling forward, then laughing some more directly into the floor.

He told Zaeed “I’m gonna go find my wife, you should clear out of here unless you want to witness some things.”

Zaeed snorted and said “Everyone’s seen those things Vakarian, you spawned a new category of sex vid.”

Garrus grinned and said “Involuntary sex vids.”

Zaeed chuckled and said “Yeah, I can tell by your voice. Cocky bastard. Oh, hell, that was an unintentional pun.”

Garrus laughed and then said seriously “Out.”

Zaeed pushed off the floor and said “Fine. I’m going to go find Samara. I’m wearing her down.”

Garrus shrugged and muttered “More likely to get your neck crushed under her heel.”

Zaeed said “Who says I’m not into that?”

Garrus put his hands up, acknowledging he was out of his depth and then they both walked somewhat unsteadily downstairs, a whiff of ozone following Garrus.

Morim called everyone over for a picture, sparing him the work of walking around and avoiding people in order to find her. When they sat down she slid her hand over his back, biotics flaring again, so he turned to look at her with a startled smile, and she was looking at him with her adoring eyes, and that’s how the picture was taken.

Adoring, but tired. She loved these people, but it wasn’t goodbye just yet, everyone was crashing here. He doubted she would tear herself away, so he’d do it for her. He scooped her off the couch and told her “Say goodnight, Shepard” and everyone chimed in with her saying “GOODNIGHT SHEPARD!” and laughed as he carried her up the stairs. He was fortunately much more sober than he had been earlier. 

He said in her ear “So what’s with the biotics tonight?”

She smiled at him and said “It was in answer the question you asked about ‘what is she doing with her arms?’”

He laughed, put her on the floor and pushed her toward the closet. He locked the door because the rest of the apartment had not the steadiest company and he’d like to prevent more unauthorized vids. 

Morim said “I’m going to get you to try the hot tub tonight.”

He snorted and said “Turians don’t swim.”

She said “You don’t have to swim, I told you. And the water is hotter than I like it, which means probably perfect for you. Come on, try something new.”

She headed that way in a peach silk robe and damned if that wasn’t convincing.

Took him a bit longer to strip, and by the time he got there she was submerged in the water, head tilted back against the tile. She was sitting in a corner, her arms out to either side. They hadn’t had all that much time in the apartment together, both of them completely unable to pull away from the war effort, interrupted often and on different schedules. After a few attempts at staying here they’d met back on the Normandy, with faster access to solutions. It might be the first time she’d tried the hot tub herself. Tonight was different because there would be no interruptions, not unless someone physically crashed through the front of the apartment, but even then he had his doubts that they could make it up the stairs considering everyone that was downstairs. He was at least grateful that the main bedroom had no external access and no windows. He was also grateful that he’d hired private Turian security, people he knew, and they were always watching over the place.

He leaned in the doorway for a long moment looking at her partly for the pure pleasure of doing so and partly to parse her mood. There was knowledge about Morim, and there was wisdom about Morim. He could know that she was tired, burdened and frightened, and those things were all true. He didn’t know this from what she said, because she was always careful to be encouraging and inspirational while still keeping her common touch, finding ways to charm people as different as Samara and Zaeed. She didn’t do it by being the same person for everyone. She tailored herself to suit her circumstances and company. It was work and she did it for him more than she did it for other people. Knowledge of Morim meant knowing that she did all these things. Wisdom meant…what?

Confront her? That would make her more tired and these burdens were not simple ones. They would not be relieved through discussion.

Encourage her to share? That might make him feel as though he were doing her some good, but that was why it also might be self serving, feeding his sense of doing something while not actually doing something good. 

Wisdom meant granting her some peace in this moment. He could do that thing that was anathema to him, accept that she was in pain and that there was nothing he could do about that pain fundamentally in words, and that his actions moment by moment spoke for themselves. Making her say it, making her explain it, would force her to comfort him. This was too deep, too far down. It made him think of a physical incurable illness. If he’d forced his mother to talk about how Corpalis Syndrome had preyed on her mind from the inside, would she have felt better? Would he have done anything beyond point out the obvious? Morim spent all day and most of her nights burning that fuel to fumes.

They were helpless in this moment to protect each other from ‘If.’ He would be there for her. He knew that she would throw herself into a volcano if a sacrifice was demanded. There was nothing he could do to change that. They were both helpless before the choices she might be forced to make. If he made her tell him whether or not she would sacrifice herself, he knew her well enough to know that she would have to lie to him, and he finally understood why and admired that part of her. Leadership of his own had spread that mantle on his shoulders, made him so much more aware of how command transmuted personal choice into necessities of strategy.

This wasn’t like other choices she’d made. This wasn’t a long shot, this was the only shot. Without her spearheading the effort to bring down the Reapers, everything was lost. Infinite stakes. Not in some potential future as she’d faced before with a handful and then an armful of companions. Now the majority of sentient creatures in the galaxy were aligned behind her. It also wasn’t a choice he would argue with her over, like her choices of going into custody, which was a potentially unnecessary choice with alternatives. There were no alternatives.

She would want him to know that he mattered more to her than all of that combined, and Nuar had given him that knowledge and he didn’t doubt it. The only thing he could force her to do right now would be to either tell a broken, jagged truth that they both already knew, or tell a soothing, comforting lie that he would want to believe, and would make her lonelier in the telling.

If he forced a conversation she would give him any promise he asked of her and then she would break it when it was time for Schroedinger’s Shepard to open the boxes of her choices.

He knew what was real and why.

Knowledge and wisdom faced entirely different directions with the same information.

He loved her, and he could work as hard as she did trying to protect him. He would protect her from the knowledge that he suffered as he did and she suffered as she did, together as much as they could be, but alone with incalculable costs, risking not only themselves but everyone else.

This was not about her. This was not about him. This was dictated by a greater set of circumstances she did not control, but would choose to ride. He would watch her do it without protest and that was the sacrifice he could make for her. Set her free from his smaller concerns and allow her to walk into the fire. It went against every instinct he had and he would do it for her.

He would do anything for her, even be helpless.

She looked so stern, tired, the muscles in her face trying to relax but unable, subtle tension between her eyes and around her mouth.

His instinct was to surge toward her, drag her into his arms and pull that tension from her bodily, Reverie and the force of his ardor driving it from her, until her mouth and brow twisted under the strain of pleasure and then relaxed. He was going to need to learn to oppose his instincts and give her the freedom to fully embrace some of her own instincts.

He took a deep, quiet breath and applied some of his battle discipline to his body, setting the pace of his breathing though it wanted to draw in faster at the sight of her, calming his heart though he wanted to erupt and race to her side. Instead he would find cover and be patient. Give her time to be who she wanted to be in this moment without forcing the identity of being his lover on her immediately with cheating Turian strength. He smiled at the thought and then relaxed in a way that wasn’t discipline. She was burdened, but she was still herself, and she would come to him. She looked and felt delicate to him and always would, but she would not be as delicate as she appeared when it was time to fight.

He wouldn’t feel sorry for himself, never that. The person he was a year ago would want to slap him for not being fully appreciative of the options he had. Danger had always been a constant in his life. Proximity and choices regarding this exquisite woman were not to be taken for granted.

He slipped into the water tentatively. It wasn’t deep, as she’d said. He chose to sit opposite her, take up the same pose, mirror her posture. He didn’t fit the same way into the corner, but he did manage to get in with minimum fuss. It was hot and that was very nice. He adopted her posture, stretching long legs out and stretching long arms out to his side, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He focused on breathing, steady and calm.

She stretched out her foot and brushed it against his, then shifted and crossed her ankles with his, casually, making him smile, keeping his eyes closed. Being submerged in water wasn’t big on a Turian’s list of favorite things to do, mostly because it forced water along plate rifts, sometimes findings cracks and creating tickling, itching and sometimes medically damaging reservoirs of water under plates. Then there was the potential…sloshing sound when walking. Showers were fine, though Turian fleets often had a system of fine particle blasting followed by blowing air that weren’t found on human ships because it would likely tear off the first layer of skin more than clean it. He wasn’t going to explain that right now.

Right now he was going to relax and wait, follow her lead, guard her emotional six. Well, relaxing was a little ambitious. Appreciating her proximity was a constant. If her proximity were a distraction he could just go with that. He could appreciate that kinetic coiled spring of need she brought out in him. He imagined disentangling their ankles and pushing away from the wall of the hot tub to move toward her, opening her eyes with the startled pleasure his speed brought her. He’d want to do too many things at once and his hands and mouth would roam. He’d want to touch her mouth, her throat and her breasts, water beading on her body and flowing down her curves and planes.

He was a little too relaxed and he made a soft humming sound, opening one eye to find her looking at him with one eye open herself. He smiled. She smiled. He closed his eye but kept the smile.

He felt the water shift and her ankles left his, then he felt her hands on them and she climbed along his body. He opened his eyes and she was drifting toward him, the tips of her hair in the water and she was…floating.

He said quickly “That is so cool. Do all humans float?”

She nodded and demonstrated.

He sat up and said “We sink like the metal-infused near rocks we are.”

She slowly slid her hands up from his knees to his thighs until she had her elbows on his thighs and was keeping her head above water, the rest of her gently resting on him, but not full weight.

He reached out and pushed on her lower back and she sank down and then bobbed back up and he laughed “So. Cool.”

She laughed then, off guard, that surprised laugh of discovery, a sound he loved. The tension was gone from her face and she had that adoring light in her eyes. He was happy because she was happy. His hands settled on her shoulders and he stroked the wet skin with his fingers, his thumbs along her collarbones. His muscles were taut, wanting to do so many things, one set of hands not enough for all the paths he wanted to follow with her. He shifted one hand to play with her hair, combing some of hair hanging over her face with wet tips back behind one of her ears. His finger traced the curve of her ear and another finger trailed along her jawline. Her laughter had faded, but the softness stayed in her face and the humor in her mouth was joined with a warm pleasure from the way he touched her. His echoed thought of being helpless came back to him, but instead he felt powerful. He did that for her. His promises of restraint he’d made to himself were boiling off and he was exerting will to keep his hands from pulling her closer.

Well, he could honor the spirit of his choice to give her what she wanted by asking, couldn’t he?

He knew he wanted to see her eyes, watch over her in her unguarded moments, as her eyes shone with love and blurred with pleasure and seared with the too-much that Reverie inspired in her. Those moments when he saw that she was as lost as he was, control exceeded, her body straining to stay together with his.

He said softly “What can I do for you, Venri?”

Her brows drew together and he saw calculation move back into the lines of her face and her mouth. She tilted her head and said “Do for me?”

He smiled reassuringly “It’s not a test. I just want to know what you want, so I can do that.”

She looked a little reassured, but still confused “I want you to do what you want to do.”

He tsked lightly and said “You don’t have a preference?”

Her brows drew together briefly again and she said carefully “Mmm…let me think…I hope I haven’t been too indecisive for you. Is that it?”

He laughed and said “No, that is definitely not it. You’re decisive. I just want to know you’re not self-sacrificing. Because you are…self sacrificing.”

Her eyes flooded with a mix of vulnerability and stubborn and he laughed again and said “No, no…not in a bad way. I just sometimes run rough shod over you and I should politely ask if you care to be trampled occasionally. Just to make sure you’re enjoying yourself and not just humoring me.”

She pressed her lips together, echoing his tone of laughter and she said “I…get that I’m a difficult person at times.” He agreed with an “Mm hm” and she continued “I should say…that my choice being what you want to do is because your ideas are always good and I’m never disappointed in them. And I want to be sure you have what you want. Do you have…what you want? Is there anything I can do for you?”

He just stared at her, shaking his head gently, amazed how she immediately turned it around on him. She was occasionally a perfect mirror, all give and no take.

She watched him shake his head and said “What?” She was genuinely bewildered. Her smile brightened and she said “Are you trying to have polite impolite sex here? Am I in the way of some fantasy you’ve got going? I can try.”

He shook his head harder and she said “Okay. Not that. So tell me. What do you want, Garrus?”

He said with humor “Now I’m curious, what’s impolite sex?”

She shrugged and said “Generally the stuff that requires more than your usual stock of Medigel or release authorizations for damages. Are we approaching some Turian kink here, because just let me know ahead of time, I’ll help as much as I can.”

He laughed harder and said “Yes, maybe it is Turian kink. I’d like to know what pleases you. Apparently that’s off limits.”

She splashed him and he sputtered and she said “You please me. I just said that. When have I given you the impression that I disliked anything you’ve done?”

He said “Well, you beat me up that one time. I was only trying to talk.”

She splashed him again and he pulled her up by her upper arms to straddle his lap, water streaming down her skin. She draped her arms over his shoulders and said sincerely “Garrus, at the end, at the beginning of every day, I want you to be happy. I know I can’t always get that for you, but here, now, with this, with sex, I can. I want you to be happy. You seem to be happy when you’re in control of choices, like now you’re arguing with what I want because you want a specific answer. It’s not about you being dominating, though you can be, it’s about the fact that you read me so well and Reverie is so addictive, that you would have to try…really hard…to not do something that I want. Really…really hard, Garrus. I want you when you touch me, I want you when you kiss me, I want you when you talk to me, I want you when your hands are on my body…I want you when you want me. If I’m struck by inspiration, I know I can ask. I asked you to try out a hot tub, you came with me. What more should I ask? That you want me? It seems you do, it seems asking you to want me would be redundant. What I want, I already have. I would feel selfish wanting more.”

He nodded and said “You’re right. I am very agreeable. I am in this hot tub. I like the sound of that impolite sex thing. Here, I’ll ask politely. Morim, may I have impolite sex with you?”

She nodded gravely and said “I am sincere when I say…anytime.”

He promised himself he would do everything he’d briefly imagined with her so recently. He said in a sleepy, deep voice at her ear “Say please.”

She licked at the scar on his throat and said in a voice thick with desire and her unguarded vulnerability “Please, Garrus, want me.”

Sudden insight regarding the cipher this woman had made of herself split like lightning through his lust, creating an empty space that slammed together again like thunder. She truly did not know what she wanted anymore, was too numb to wanting, and was open only to being wanted by him. She didn’t love him less, she just couldn’t reach for it to comfort herself, paralyzed as she was internally.

She’d been asked to make too many decisions, she’d been forced to bear too many consequences, being asked what she wanted was again impossible territory for her to navigate.

He lifted her eyes to his and it was written there, in her eyes, he could see it. She wouldn’t say it and he would never make her say it. Parts of her were trapped in that nightmare he couldn’t reach.

Helplessness tore at him and he let it reach his eyes as well. So much unspoken but seen, inches from one another. The eerie self-inflicted eye of a storm raging around them lending eloquence of silence and the seen wall of advancing destruction.

They couldn’t stay here, not for long, the storm was coming and the roar was in their ears, in their bones. Permanent, unhealed and un-healable damage lurked in the depths.

His eyes held hers as his hands whispered over her face, the flawless skin and carnelian marks of her choices. Her regeneration factor overcame her own history, she looked pristine and fresh. In a Turian sense she was a child, no marks on her face to speak of her valor. Half his face was marred, kept that way by his will, and her choices were so often opposite of his own.

She looked as though she had never seen a rough day and she’d lived a life composed of rough days. He called her by the name she’d had the longest, her identity before she’d met him, before she’d become a Commander, before she’d become a legend, before he’d bonded to her, before she’d come back to him with eerie scars humming through her skin.

“Morim.” 

He lifted her from the water, images of rough novelty gone from his mind. He’d imagined her gasping from the shock of him laying her down on cold tile, but now he wanted to keep her warm. He dragged a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her rapidly cooling body, her eyes on his the whole way. She was too shocked and lost to cry.

How many times had she imagined everyone going slowly or rapidly drunk in this apartment ending up dead by her command? How many times overall? How many times tonight?

He could ask her what she wanted, but he wouldn’t be able to give her the things that leaped to her mind. She wanted Ashley back. She wanted Thane back. She wanted Legion back. She wanted Mordin back. She wanted the Reapers gone. 

He didn’t know if she wanted to live or wanted to die, but knew that the weight of grief was a fate worse than death for many. Was it for her? Spirits, I can’t ask. The loss of her and the loss of 10 people under his command had unhinged him so completely he’d wanted to die.

He said her name again, just an affirmation, something to hold on to. Some call back to her having an identity independent of this crisis.

“Morim.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her eyes captured with his own, watching who she was in this moment. He said “This is who you are and I love you.” He had faith in that love, in its power to reach her, to work unlikely miracles. He moved his hands soothingly over her hair, over her face and said “When you’re in the dark, think of me. You are my light. When you are alone, think of me. You are my mate. When you are lost, think of me. I will find my way to you.”

Her eyes flickered with recognition, seeming to pull her into this moment away from the coming storm. She was quicksilver in her mood, suddenly voracious intent in her eyes, in her hands, and her mouth moved to his throat, her hands to his waist, her sudden change in course catching him off guard, again, always. His arms came around her, still tentative, gentle and being careful with her, but she barely noticed and persisted, her hands straying to his groin plates until he had a sudden thought and stilled her hands and said “Wait…uh…”

She had that determined look in her eyes that took his breath away and she said “Not in the mood to wait.”

He coughed slightly and said “We have an issue here. Hold on.” He stood up and carried her back to where the bathroom, then put her carefully on her feet, wrapping the blanket around her and then holding up one finger. “Turian thing.”

She raised a brow and said “Are you sloshing?”

He shrugged slightly and then stepped into the shower for a moment, opening his groin plates and water gushed down his thighs.

She was laughing so hard that he had to laugh with her. She said “You flooded your torpedo bay!”

He shook his head and said “You’re a terrible person. I…uh…came loose in the water…I was trying not to, but you’re persuasive.”

She tried to stifle her giggles and didn’t do a very good job, saying “Any other…mmm…issues there?”

He shrugged and said “As long as it’s clean water, I should be fine. I might…continue to slosh for a bit.”

She pressed her lips together and said “Thank you. Venri, thank you. I would be lost…without you…and your torpedo bay.”

He turned on the spray to rinse off and when she dropped the blanket he yanked her in and shoved her against the cold tile with satisfaction, hearing the gasp in her voice that he’d wanted to hear. He said with deepened harmonics “I love that sound.” 

She said lightly “Won’t your cowl collect puddles?”

He growled at her throat and said “Shut up, you anthropomorphic bag of dicks.”

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and said “Whatever you say, nerd.”

He groaned and said “I love it when you talk dirty. Tell me you’ll do whatever I say again.” His breathing lost its pace and he slid a finger into her heat and his talons scratched lightly over one of her breasts. Her head tipped back and she said “Whatever you say.” He watched her as the change in her body showed him how much pleasure she felt. His thumb twisted to play at her clit and his talons drew to a point at her nipple, opening again and starting over, base of her breasts to the tip, testing the hardness of her nipples with presses of blunt back sides of talons.

He moved his mouth to her ear and intensified the thrust of his fingers and the pressing of his thumb. He said through bared teeth “You made me promise once to live after you’ve died, to not throw my life away. Remember?”

She was straining and her voice was hoarse, gasped out between whimpers “Yes.”

He said “Good. Now I’m going to make you promise to throw your death away. You’re going to promise me that if the opportunity to die presents itself and you can make another choice, you are going to live. Whatever I say, Morim.”

He pulled his head back to look at her, his eyes full of lust, determination and force of will. He could play her body and her mind like an instrument and he was going to make her sing.

Her face reflected the thought he’d seen her make when he’d asked her to tell him the truth. Her brows drew, her eyes closed, the concept of giving up her will on a subject flitting on her brows between the heave of her body and the tensed cords of her throat. He bent his head to drag his teeth along one of those columns and said “Tell me yes. Tell me you will always come back for me.”

He pulled back to watch the twined strain on her face of pleasure and choice and being ordered to commit while her mind was lost to her. It was unfair and he took fierce pride in it. The choices she faced were never fair. Her lips parted and she drew in a deep breath and she said “Yes” with a tone he knew well. Command and decision. It was unfair and she wouldn’t hide, wouldn’t lie.

He said reverently “Spirits, you are beautiful.”

He dropped his mouth to her breast and licked at her nipple, thin points of his teeth on her skin. He twisted and curled his finger inside her and pressed at her clit with the insistent rhythm he’d learned from her body’s responses. Her hands clenched on his shoulders and the building cry of her orgasm rang in his ears. He lifted her hips so her feet were off the floor and her weight was suspended in his arms, and drove his cock into her with deliberate and slow pressure, pinioning her to the wall. Her shoulders pressed again against the higher and newly cold tile, the gasp and moan she made as the hot water pounded against his back and shoulders. His words murmured against her throat as he bit down to taste her. “You’re mine.” His words murmured against his mouth as he kissed her, biting down on his tongue. “Nothing will take you from me.” His claws dug into her hips and he licked at her throat as she threw her head back, Reverie flooding her. “Come back to me, Venri, always.”


	31. Chapter 31

Timeline: Priority Horizon

Shepard

She hadn’t lost anybody. She was amazed she hadn’t lost anybody. Even Miranda had made it. Morim had that third-person sense of worry. Why would Miranda go in alone and do something like that without backup?

Because of her sister.

Oh. 

Right.

Yeah, I do that. 

I’m crazy.

Garrus, I am sorry I am crazy.

They need me crazy.

Even you need me crazy if we’re going to get through this. So no last minute doubts of my methods or madness, it’s too late.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority Cerberus Headquarters

Garrus

After a front-loaded firefight in the landing bay of the Cerberus base they had an Atlas come at them. He’d been busy, trying to keep EDI from being pinned down.

Morim was getting good at depopulating an Atlas. She yelled “Vakarian, I made you a promise, this one’s yours!”

EDI and Morim covered him as he started to laugh, then sprinted over and climbed in.

His mate loved him. Very much.

He’d watched her make things disappear in falling pink and blue explosions with guarded jealousy for long enough.

He let out a whoop and stomped around the landing bay long after everyone was dead. It was particularly satisfying stepping on a phantom, though he couldn’t find the controls to jump up and down. He was hoping for more. There had been lots of yelling coming from his mouth that didn’t necessarily have words involved.

After he started to slow down and was feeling mournful Morim looked up at him and said “You want to stay here, guard the rear flank? I mean, really rear. You could shoot at the guys that are already dead, make them explode.”

He stomped around in a tight circle and said “Come on. Just one more minute. I’m sure there are more of them coming this way.”

EDI said “No, I am certain there are no more squads in proximity.”

Garrus scowled and said “Will it fit down the hole?”

Morim tsked and said “Nope, sorry. Ladder.”

Garrus said “I’m not coming down until you promise to buy me one of these. Later, you know, after the Reapers are dead. I can be reasonable.”

Morim grinned and said “That’s a little unrealistic. The reasonable thing. Sure, we can get an Atlas. We can get two. Death Match Atlas Paintball.”

He grinned and climbed down “I love you so much. Have I mentioned that?”

She shrugged and jumped down “It’s because I get you toys. You are high maintenance.”

He happily agreed “I’m worth it though.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Priority Earth

Garrus

How to spend possibly the last night of his life with his wife? They’d done this a few times before.

She’d been controlled and reserved, kind and contained. He understood why. He’d deferred to her style, helping her maintain equilibrium through lightness and humor. 

Every moment with her was special, and it had been. 

What they really needed was the time and the familiarity and the luxury of taking each other for granted, knowing they’d be there tomorrow.

He imagined saying that to her “Hey, how about we just ignore each other and kinda smile at each other while reading our data pads, convinced we have all the time in the world? Maybe brush hands as we move around the cabin doing other things?”

But then sex, of course sex. Because that was what they did every day.

That’s what he wanted. He knew her steady patterns of work, the draw of her brow and the twist of her lip as she paused what she was doing to describe something funny, or stupid. The light in her eyes when she thought something was ridiculously cool and she wanted to tell him. He wanted that, more of that. More of her being able to concentrate, to laugh, to stand still without drifting into impenetrable calculation.

He knew she liked ice cream. Ice cream was weird and tricky stuff, and when on the Citadel he’d gone to a place specializing in it and taken some advice. They couldn’t make something for him and pack it up. It had to be put together on the spot. A container of vanilla ice cream in a temperature controlled environment, syrup (that word he knew, but not maple, chocolate) and whipped cream in a canister. A jar of cherries. That’s what he’d seen her order and enjoy once before. 

He hoped it would be a pleasure and wouldn’t be branded “Death Sundae” by her. He imagined her thinking “Excellent, I sacrifice my life and as a reward I get ice cream.”

It was a small thing, but she’d still eat it, she wasn’t crazy. Well, not that kind of crazy. It was metaphoric in that melting, sweet way she had described it. Can’t be preserved, won’t last, must be enjoyed in the moment.

He was afraid a larger gesture would break her composure. She knew how much it meant, how much he loved her, what he was willing to do for her. 

When he got to their cabin she was working, curled up on the couch. She turned to look at him and then her eyes trailed to the packages in his hands. She raised a brow and he opened them to show her. A bottle of alcohol for him as part of a tradition, and the makings of a sundae.

Her face lit up and he was assured he’d made the right choice. She jumped up, lunged at him and kissed him fiercely, then grabbed the bags out of his hand and brought them over to the table.

She shouted “ICE CREEEAM!” happily at near the top of her lungs and he laughed.

She pulled out all the bits and he was about to get a bowl and put something together for her, but she pulled the top off the container and dug in.

He murmured “There’s theoretically a way you’re supposed to do that. I learned and everything.”

She grinned and said “So I ruined it?”

He smiled and said “Not if you like it.”

She nodded emphatically “I like it.” She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started pouring everything directly into the container. Whiskey, sauce, cherries. She dispensed some of the whipped cream into her mouth and sat back, a deep sigh of contentment in her voice. “I wish you could taste this. Thank you.”

She ate the fairly nasty looking slurry with what looked like joy, so he sat down beside her and said “You’re welcome.” I wish I could taste it too. I wish you could taste all the things I love to eat.

It was even more metaphoric than he'd imagined, the ice cream light, the sauce dark, blending together with alcohol and cherry juice like blood thrown in and stirred around.

So not a death sundae, an 'our life together' sundae.

She ate the whole damned thing and he was gratified and amused at the sounds and praise coming from her mouth after ice cream went in.

She turned to him and glided a fingertip along his mandible, tracing the shape. She said "While I'm wishing, we've done so much together and there's still so much we could do together…and I want to do it all again. Maybe not the rocket to the face or the dying, but I want to hold your hand with the weird number of fingers. I want to watch you sleep. I want to wake up next to you. Thousands of times. Every day, forever. I want to hear you laugh and I want…"

She trailed off, her voice slurred with tears, and he echoed her words, saying "I want…"

She said softly "It's behind every breath. I can't say I love you enough. It builds up, this need to tell you, the need to show you, all those missed opportunities and lost time. I have enough for forever, I just don't have forever. Where would all this love go…if…"

He decided they both knew this, they both felt this, and maybe he could take her for granted, allow her to not have to spill how much she loved him in words.

Where would all this go…

Love was a separate entity, deserving of its own rules and choices and independent life.

He pulled her into his lap, spread his thumbs along her cheekbones and said "It won't go anywhere, it will always be truth."

He kissed her, and her lips were cold from the ice cream, the odd and bitter taste registered but ignored in favor of the growing warmth and familiar addiction of his Venri's mouth under his. In defiance of the potential loss of time together he moved slowly, seeking the familiar pleasures of her. One hand tangled in her hair and another hand slid along her spine. He countered the sense that it might be the last time he did something by deliberately touching her slowly, circling back and doing it again, unwilling to let a patch of skin go by unappreciated, as many times as he could. He traced the columns of her fingers with his hands and pressed caresses to her palms and wrists.

She gave him a familiar signal, squeezing two of her fingers along the sides of one of his until he extended a claw. She used his hand to slowly slice off their clothing, moving only enough to free herself and him from the shreds. She kissed at his exposed skin, offering her own to him. She had adopted his pace and they touched and over-touched each other, fingers and minds memorizing the feel and the curve, the bunching of muscle and the pace of breathing. Her fingertips found the edges of plates and her palms brushed over the expanse of them. His hands moved along her smooth and bent limbs, hands at her hips, then thighs, then knees and calves, stopping to grip at her ankles and moving back up.

He leaned back and shifted, his head resting on the arm of the couch, his fringe over the back. He brought his feet up, bent his knees and pushed her shoulders back so she was leaning against his thighs.

He didn't have to tell her how beautiful she was, how she embodied desire for him. His hands smoothed over her thighs and she leaned back, closed her eyes and lifted her breasts in her palms. He could see all of her this way, watch the sweat form and trail. He wanted to watch her, drink in the color of her hair, her marks and her skin, watch her stomach muscles and thighs clench and relax. He wanted to dedicate his senses to her. He could watch her while she had her eyes closed, and that brought out his possessive instincts and she knew it, knew him. She arched her back against his thighs, a patient invitation to his more voyeuristic desire to watch her body, feeding the hunter, savoring opportunities. His talons lazily circled her knees, careful not to tickle, but to lightly scratch along her skin. He scratched lines up and down her thighs, drawing sighs from her. He wanted to see the hunger in her, see that she felt as he did, build up desire in her until it spoke to him through her whimpers, her moans and the twisting of her body.

He used one hand to grip her hip and pull her toward him, tracing her skin with his fingers, watching her bite her lip and moan in anticipation. Her hands stilled on her breasts and then dug deeper into the skin there, leaving curved shadows in the flesh around her fingers.

His hand moved from her hip to the inside of her thigh, moving along the skin there, and his other hand moved to slide a finger into slick heat, the scent and sight of her tearing through his observer stance, building predatory hunger. She lifted her body with her thighs, pressed harder back against his legs and one of her hands came down to grip his hand on her thigh, twining her fingers between his. His thumb sought her clit and she moved her hips in tandem with his hand. He had to be careful to not grip her fingers so hard they broke, and the delicate shift of her clit under his thumb was near ephemeral, too small to cause this shuddering and shaking, clenching around his finger. He didn't tease her or play with her, but he did step her forward and back, a path of sensation moving in switchbacks back and then higher. He’d rock her closer and then a little further away, to pause, to begin again. This was driving the intensity of pulsing and whimpering, until she was tense and trembling and begging words began to slip from her mouth, saying 'please' and his name in gasps, breathy feathers of words. He brought her to her uniquely human release, her head bent and lip bitten, cords of her neck standing out as he watched. She pinched her nipple hard between the edges of two fingers of the hand that was cupping her breast, the nails of her other hand digging into the back of his hand.

He withdrew his hand to rest on her thighs, watching her shudder in falling-down aftershocks of pleasure. His eyes took in the contrast again of plate against skin, hide and hard against the expanse of soft and delicate, faint red lines fading on her breast and thigh marked by his hands and hers.

He watched her shift and relax, watched and felt her breathing slow down and her hips settle onto his legs and abdomen.

He thought that given time together, all the time they wanted, he would never take her for granted, would always have to temper his constant focus on her with a forced rhythm of casual necessity, stopping to do other things only reluctantly. Only her will had kept him from taking her away from everything. He was voracious for those possible moments after, alone together, allowing him to pursue the flash of her hair and the lilt of her voice when he wanted to, which was always. Over time he’d seen her transform from the practiced shell of Shepard to the woman under all her defenses and constructions. The idea of her belonging entirely to him and not to a cause beat in both their hearts.

Her eyes opened and he drank her in, voyeuristic observation done and wanting to be lost in green fire beginning. He wanted too much at once as always, wanted to hide her behind his back, stroke her hair, break her will and bend her body. She smiled in a way that made him feel she understood exactly what he wanted and would give them all to him, none forgotten or overlooked. If only she could.

She leaned forward and her hair fell in a curtain around their faces as she braced one hand on his chest and kissed him, breaking off to rub her nose, her cheek, over the planes of his face, then back to his mouth. Her other hand stroked at the seam of him until he opened to her hand, gasping against her mouth as her hand delved inside to stroke, his cock twisting toward her and seeking the broad strokes of her palm and grasp of her fingers, too many fingers.

Weird number of fingers.

She shifted back, two hands and her mouth now on him and he was unraveling, one hand of his flexed hard on the floor, scraping his talons into the unyielding surface to feel the resistance, and the other hand with talons itching to spring free but sheathed, on her hair.

Contact with any part of her and his cock caused degrees of Reverie and she’d discovered this was how she could make him most crazy, hands and mouth pulling from him. He couldn’t sheathe himself fully in her mouth and stay for long because she couldn’t breathe. Every instinct of his body wanted to drive deeper into her and that conflict made him shake. Her fingers and her tongue and her hair falling along the sides of him were bright, dizzying and impossible, or so he felt. She could drive him to snarling, growling, animal urge to sheathe himself fully in his taunting mate, pulling eons of Turian mating dominance from his spine and into his hands. Withdrawal from her mouth made him have to fight for control he was rapidly losing. She could make him pass out this way, losing the battle between control and unconsciousness, restraining himself from forcing his cock deep into her throat.

He bucked his hips involuntarily and she took him deeper and the moan in her throat vibrated around him, then she released him and took him back in just as deep.

If he did what he wanted he’d end up killing her through asphyxiation or deep, deep puncture wounds.

Instead he pulled her off him with a snarl and rolled her onto the floor, positioning her with the speed and strength that made her gasp. She spun a little on the floor until he stopped her with a growl. He took a long moment to enjoy seeing her sprawled on her back, surprise and lust on her face, and with a snarl of satisfaction he drove his cock into her mouth at his own pace, allowing her to breathe but drawing squeaks and moans and Spirits yes. 

He shoved her thighs apart and drove his tongue into her slit, driving into her at the same pace his cock was slamming in and out her mouth, hitting the back of her throat and withdrawing.

Determined to make her as crazed as she made him, he took long vengeful strokes ravaging her mouth, her lips stretched tight around him. He tongue fucked her and then withdrew to bite at her thigh and lick, then started over.

Her body was heaving and frantic, hungry welcome of his invasions, and the delicate trembles began in her thighs, rhythmic moans around his cock. He teased her and drew back and almost laughed at the indignant protest stifled in her mouth with a hard thrust. He held her thighs open wider with his hands, digging in claws and moved his tongue insistently over her clit until she moaned for him, shuddered for him, broke apart and whimpered and clutched at him.

He withdrew from her panting mouth and lifted her from the floor, putting her limp and clinging body down on the bed. He took a long moment to memorize the lines of her hard breathing, the raising of her arms to invite him back down into her embrace, not willing to be parted. He followed her down and slid his cock into her still pulsing body to a delicious whimper he took into his mouth. He kissed her and let his hands roam over her while she lay beneath him in straining welcome. He stroked back her sweat-strung hair, pressed her mouth to his throat until she bit at him, her tongue and teeth drawing more sound from him. He bit his tongue and kissed her, remembering his senses, his dedication. He saw her, he touched her, he tasted her, he heard her, he breathed in the scent of them together.

He loved her.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, in London

Garrus: Good thing there are no proximity mines here.

Tali: Remember that time when she didn't know what they were and she stepped on every single one?

Garrus: She was too busy nearly getting blown up to listen to us when we asked her to look for the glowing red triangle thingies. To put it in her language.

Shepard: I had shields. Hush you two, grownups are fighting and winning.

Garrus: That's what I'm saying. We’re winning now, but if Reapers used mines like the Geth did, we'd all be doomed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Searing pain.

Searing pain and the dark.

Searing pain and the dark and cold.

Searing pain and the dark and cold and trying to move.

Searing pain and the dark and cold and trying to move and trying to breathe.

Searing pain and the dark and cold and trying to move and trying to breathe and panic.

Breathe.

Pain.

Darkness.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Cracked blood on her lips. Pain in her ribs. Breathing deep was impossible and it was what had woken her, trying to draw in breath. She screamed, the sound dry and weak.

Her thigh was flaring with pain and when her hand went to her pinned right leg through the shattered armor the skin was numb and cold. She tried to move wreckage off herself but she didn’t have enough strength. How much time had passed? She tried to look at her Omni Tool but it was dark. After a few futile tries, she sank back, exhaustion making her gasp for shallow breaths. She focused on dispersing panic to reveal underlying sense as her mind came back to her. She hadn’t done this before, but she’d done things like this before.

She'd made her choice. 

Destroy the Reapers. She'd expected to be dead. Maybe she still would be.

“The crucible will not discriminate. All synthetics will be targeted. Even you are part synthetic.”

She coughed the familiar taste of blood and started to push against the wreckage. No more synthetics. No more upgrades, they now only added weight to her body. She still had some biochemical upgrades that were inherent and not cybernetic, and maybe they had saved her life. She could still heal. She still had her mind, she still had discipline.

No more panic.

She promised herself that if she got through this, she'd spend a day screaming. 

At least a day. 

Okay. Deal.

Her hand moved to under her armor, her locket was still there. She opened it and breathed in, holding it in a shaking hand pressed against her forehead. Her job was done and all that was left was this. Panic of a new kind gripped her and she fought it back. Where was Garrus? She was alive, she had no idea if anybody else was, anywhere. She wanted to see the surface of Earth from some vantage point. Something without fire, without Reaper shapes. She promised herself that also.

Shelve what you don't know. Work with what you know.

Mechanics and not synthetics. She hadn’t the strength to clear the wreckage with force. She would have to do it with leverage. 

Her armor was charred and dead weight. She stripped it off and shoved the chest piece between her leg and the panel on top of it and rocked it slowly. It hurt like being lit on fire and she could tell she would lose more blood soon if she didn't do something to prevent it. She dry heaved from the pain. Upside to not having any food? 

The fabric of her shirt was resistant to her weak and scrabbling hands and she had to rest for more long minutes, in danger of crashing into the black of unconsciousness. She drew in a sharp breath in order to invoke a scream and wakefulness. Adrenaline and lightheadedness made her hands shake harder. She sliced the edge of her shirt on something jagged. That wasn’t hard to find, at least. She carefully and painfully removed the charred armor off of and out of her leg, tying a tourniquet above her knee. Her knee was a mess. She was grateful and terrified that it didn’t hurt below her thigh. She still had a water pouch and a little Medigel and she treated the biggest gashes she had. Her right thigh was the worst and the leg was useless. There was nothing she could do for the pain or the internal injuries. At least with the tourniquet she wouldn’t bleed out.

No time to do anything but think about mechanics.

Her weapons were gone, her armor was gone, her Omni Tool was gone, her helmet was gone.

She needed air first. She had oxygen for now, but this ruined place wouldn’t support life.

Mechanics. Focus.

Garrus.

Garrus limping, bleeding, as she left him and wouldn't look back.

Mechanics. Focus.

You’re alive and you need to stay that way. You made a promise to him. You're going to operate under the impression that he is alive and angry at you, because that will motivate you most.

She leveraged the wreckage off herself after long, crushingly painful and shaking effort. She was in a field of jagged char and dark, a contained space in a station above Earth’s atmosphere. Doors were synthetic, at least electronic. She needed to find a mechanical door.

She needed to find any door.

Walking was not a possibility. She was going to have to go down from wherever she was. The debris field was on a severe tilt. Navigation was treacherous amid the shifting flotsam and jetsam of whatever the hell she had done.

She could imagine getting through this and trying to explain to someone what she'd done. "Honestly, I haven't got a fucking clue. Someone who was able to watch, let me know."

Heroic. She spat out blood and considered.

Biotics. Biotics would help but would also sap her fast. She’d had to eat enough for two people just to keep up with the burn on her metabolism. 

She tried a biotic flare on her hand. Smoke and lightning. Only a little flickering blue, back to the level of before she had an implant. Not an available resource. What she had left was eezo in her system and Leviathan influence. It was still useful as light, flickering and swarming.

She picked her way over the field of broken and lost purpose.

She saw a hatch and worked her way toward it. Loss of power might mean loss of locking mechanism. 

She didn’t have the hydration to cry and she didn’t have the hope to pray to the Spirits.

20 feet left.

Her tourniquet snagged on the corner of a sharp beam and she had to backtrack painfully to free it, the dead weight of her leg fueling despair, she lost ground.

25 feet.

Mechanics. Focus.

She climbed over a steep fallen partition and slid down the other side, slamming hard into the wall near the hatch.

5 feet and coughing some more fresh blood, a rib slammed hard and sharp into her side.

Just get to the hatch and you can rest.

You can’t rest. If you rest you die.

I’d really like to die right about now.

Just get to the hatch. 

3 feet.

It might as well be the moon.

2 feet.

Don’t think about anything other than the will it takes to move your screaming muscles forward. Do it.

She reached the hatch’s hinges and stopped, resting because she couldn’t do anything else.

If you open that you might be sucked into space.

Would that be so bad right now?

I’ve done it before.

Open it. You have no other option. 

If you die, you might die fast. Think on the bright side.

Garrus

He woke in the semi dark and his first thought was to look for Morim. A few moments brought the knowledge that he wasn't in their cabin and the smell was that of the Med Bay. His hands still reached to the bed at his sides, trying to locate her body out of hope and not logic.

Then it hit him. She'd left him.

She'd left him.

Spiked and piercing pain shot through him and he let out an involuntary whimper of grief and helplessness.

His eyes took in the room in the dim light. The ship was still, entirely still. No hum or thrum of the Normandy's systems.

Tali was lying still one bed over. He saw Karin and saw the apprehension on her face before her more stoic medical persona slipped down over her features. Karin said "Garrus" and tapped the side of her head, behind her ear.

He said quickly "What the hell happened?"

Karin shook her head and tapped again, and when she spoke he understood by not understanding a damned thing she said. Their translators were out.

Garrus said "Shepard" urgently.

She shrugged helplessly, her eyes watering. He growled in deep frustration and Karin said "Liara."

Did she want Liara to break the news to him? Wait. Back up. Liara might be the only one that could communicate right now. Taking in the dark and the translators, he moved to activate his Omni Tool as Karin watched him catch up. Nothing.

He'd learned only a little English, but he imagined Karin thought that at this moment he was going to destroy what remained of her Med Bay, if not her personally.

Not a bad guess based on his current state. He realized he was reverberating with a feral growl and he stopped with effort.

He closed his eyes, took deep slow breaths and made a grab at years of battle discipline and focus under fear, gained a foothold. He nodded tightly and said "Liara. Yes."

He moved to get off the Med Bay bed, but Karin shook her head and crossed the room to push him back down. The amount of pain clamoring from his body and the instability of his legs convinced him to sit and wait. He still had all his limbs, he could see them. They hurt a lot. Pressure bandages covered his form, some stained with seeping and fresh blue. He remembered the sheeting impact of shrapnel on top of bullet wounds. Yes. That would do it.

Karin had done the best she could do with no technology to help her.

Garrus acquiesced and sat back, nodded to Karin and said "Liara. Yes." Karin left.

His eyes drifted to Tali, still on the bed. Without his visor, without any monitors, he could only gauge her by the fact that she was still breathing. He breathed with her, matched her pace to keep from giving in and tearing apart the Med Bay useless piece by useless piece. His hand moved to the back of his head and sought the Kinril spacers and the slick texture of the color under his fringe. Her blood, his bone.

I will find out what happened.

I will find you, Venri.

He made those solemn promises and then refrained from promising to kill her himself when he met her. 

When, not if. When.

She'd left him.

Liara entered the Med Bay alone and walked to him, her face poised. Hard won, that poise. She walked to Garrus and gave him a light embrace, avoiding his injuries.

She put her hand to his temple and showed him what she had seen, what she knew and did not know.

He saw her at Joker's shoulder, a swelling wave of red energy bearing down on them, the order to go from Hackett's mouth and reinforced by Liara's urging. 

He shuddered violently. He would have ordered them to go directly back to the Citadel. Morim was in that wave. 

Liara showed him images of himself. He and Tali had been brought on at Morim's evacuation order. After the paralysis and shock of Morim's final order and goodbye had left him, he'd shaken off assistance and tried to limp to the shuttle, determined to go back. He had collapsed three-quarters of the way there. Liara had gone with his unconscious form back to the Med Bay, then to the CIC.

His eyes closed and he wrenched breaths from his lungs. He hadn't been there for her. The Normandy hadn't been there for her.

Spirits damn them all.

Liara waited for him to absorb this, waiting for his next question as he took in the answers. He tried to stay calm, Liara's own guilt, doubt and horror flickering like dark smoke at the edges of the images and answers. 

Liara showed him the ultimate crash landing site of the Normandy, where they were now.

Liara smiled and tears crested her eyes as she showed him that she'd fed Morim’s fish and hamster every day, once they got access to her cabin through the ducts.

Garrus pulled Liara into an embrace, apologizing and resting his crest on her shoulder.

They both stood in communion of not being enough, trying to reassure each other that they had done their best, and knowing that their best was insufficient.

She cried and he tried to clear his mind. She offered to dull the pain but he refused. She understood and didn't push. It's what he had of Morim right now and didn't want it taken from him.

She turned to issues of the crew. No deaths, minor injuries. Tali was fighting an infection from suit breeches and she had some injuries, but fortunately recovery only involved antibiotics and time. There were no tech issues other than Tali's suit being limited in its ability to help her. They'd had to rig an alternate battery source for her suit. Fortunately Quarians had backups upon backups upon redundant systems and the basics of atmosphere circulation were down to their mechanical level, stable and functional. Karin had assured Liara that Tali would recover.

Although bewildered herself about what had happened, "red energy" not being self explanatory in any way, Liara conveyed that Adams, Gabby and Ken had compared the damage to an electromagnetic pulse. All active programs and functions wiped, electronics shut down. The Normandy was comparable to Morim's mind after contact with Leviathan. Starting pathways lost, but theoretically the information still there, just encrypted or misplaced.

Mechanics worked, anything relying on software did not. They'd managed to isolate and activate several mechanical systems, and a few minor technical systems. Ship-wide communication was hopefully only a few days away, but there was still the problem of translation. Liara was the only translator. The crew being nearly entirely human meant that work was proceeding.

The good news was that systems that had been dormant during the blast would start up. Spare Omni Tools and translators that hadn't been active during the blast had been able to be activated. There was no networking, yet, but they had the basics of calculation and databases and access to engineering specs, enough to know where to start, or so they Engineering team had assured her.

James was in charge, making his rounds of the ship, through ducts as necessary. They were rigging a mechanical solution for the elevator but for now didn't use it. The humans could all communicate and Engineer Adams had set up some radios, though they didn't work as well as they might, the composition of the ship itself interfering. 

Food and water were thankfully in plentiful supply, Morim had stocked up massively in the buildup to the push to Earth. They had enough food for a long time, levo and dextro.

He felt her hesitation at the concept of time and her use of the word ‘long’ and he had learned enough from her apprehension to not push. She didn’t know and didn’t want to guess.

Liara had tentative hope that ship functions would be restored. Garrus was needed to add his mind to the rebuilding of technical systems.

EDI was unresponsive, and all her functions had to be isolated and restarted individually. EDI had heavy encryption on ship systems, but Joker knew some bypasses because she'd confided in him. Joker knew what to work around and some back doors and where the traps were laid. EDI had planned for the possibility that she might be hijacked by a Cerberus process and she didn’t want to harm or alarm her crew. EDI had been the map to the Normandy and without her, they were lost until they stumbled across landmarks by luck or guile beyond what Joker had given them as a starting point. EDI's platform was sitting in the copilot chair and Joker had declared he wouldn't allow her to be moved. Nobody had considered it in the first place.

Garrus asked "Reapers?"

Liara assured him there were no hostile forces. It appeared they hadn't been pursued in any way and there were no local inhabitants or wildlife to cause concern. Oxygen was plentiful and the ship vents were left open to compensate for a lack of atmospheric control. Joker had said that the course correction to crash here was the last directive EDI gave, and it had saved all of their lives, otherwise they'd be adrift in space, a long, cold death sentence.

Garrus reflexively thought that they'd be on the Citadel, finding Morim.

Or dead in the blast, Liara answered. She said "We can't go back, but we can go forward."

Garrus agreed and said "What can I do to help?"


	32. Chapter 32

Shepard

After kissing her life potentially goodbye, apologizing to Garrus, she had opened the hatch to combined relief and disappointment. On one hand she wasn’t dead. On the other hand, she wasn’t dead.

She had to move. It was a Keeper access tunnel. She had seen a Keeper on her way in, she wondered if they were still around. Probably not. Weren’t they made of Reaper tech? Or were they entirely biological? She remembered the Salarian, Chorban, telling her that Keepers would self destruct if someone took a sample. That was not biological. Was it? With the Citadel trashed if they were still around they’d be extra busy. This tunnel was gratifying clear of the mangled bodies she’d stumbled over on her way in.

The floor was tilted, making it easier for her to slide down the polished surface. 

There were more hatches, more goodbyes, more relief and disappointment. She had no way of measuring how long it took her to try different tunnels before she finally reached a doorway that was open, releasing her back into the world of those who had tried to live here.

She could measure her thirst, her hunger, and the convulsing nausea of circumstance, grief, withdrawal and pain. She’d stop, she’d start again, and she kept her word to herself that panic would come later, not now. She didn’t have the spare energy to hyperventilate or the time to hold still. She still would pass out mid crawl and wake later, guiding herself in the dark tunnel with biotic light.

Gravity was still working, oxygen was still available, but she didn’t know if it would be refreshed. Even with the standing oxygen in the station, without a breech she should be fine.

Fine.

Right. Fine.

She dragged herself into an apartment finally, the floor canted to the side and then down, but she found what she needed. There was packaged food and drink. She ate very slowly with tiny sips of water, making sure she wouldn’t throw it up. She didn’t want to try to open a refrigerator unit, concern of being overwhelmed by decay. The scent of rot was inescapable.

After some more painful searching she came across a first aid kit and cried with relief. There were painkillers, antibiotics and Medigel. The Citadel was still a space station, and there was standardized emergency gear in living spaces. She didn’t want to test any heating mechanism or the water facilities, not wanting to risk fire or flood. She dressed her wounds, ruining four towels covered with crusted blood and grime. 

Savior of the Citadel, Scourge of the Towels.

You don’t discriminate in your scourging. She heard it in Garrus’s voice.

I miss you so much.

Well, she’d had an abundance of wishes granted. She had food, water, painkillers, first aid, shelter…and now she could sleep late.

Thank you Spirits. Now please check on Garrus and if he is not alive I will have no mercy.

I mean, thank you.

You know what I mean.

She considered the state of the room and possible shifts in the station or loss of gravity. Nothing had happened hinting of gravity instability yet, but she didn’t want to go skidding out a picture window. She couldn’t see Earth from here, but she saw the Citadel’s internal skyline. The sun granted some reflection on the surfaces outside.

Well. Nobody’s trying to kill me for once.

The station is trying to kill me, but it’s not personal.

She dragged every blanket and pillow she could find and made a nest in the bathtub with the door closed, hoping she wouldn’t wake up on the ceiling. Hoping she would wake up at all.

Hoping Garrus was waking up somewhere.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Garrus

The day they got their translators and Omni Tools back was a good one. Traynor had always been fascinated by how they worked and had taken enough of them apart in her time to void many a warrantee. She knew a relatively criminal amount of how to bypass and fool them. She’d modified a system she knew of pulse bypass to restart them. The process wasn’t pleasant, particularly since these objects were under the skin. They took turns being mildly electrocuted. Traynor's arm was burned all to hell, where she’d been testing the electrocution on herself.

Although they didn’t have any long-range communications, indicating that all comm buoys were out, they could talk to each other again.

It had been one month, three weeks, two days, fourteen hours, seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds since they’d left Morim on the Citadel. His visor still didn’t work but as soon as his Omni Tool had started working he’d set up a running counter on his Omni Tool, the graphic never dimming, projected against his forearm plating.

He drove himself hard and slept for exactly 4 hours. He took over feeding her fish and feeding her hamster, but he wouldn’t stay in their cabin without her on board. Most everyone was camped out in the crew deck and he took up position again in the Battery out of need for proximity to his customary console. James remained in charge because Garrus was best suited to the technical work of repair. James had been the one who had managed to pull morale together and motivate everyone. He was good at coordination of efforts, saying that if he’d been in charge of fixing things, the only option he’d have would be kicking it. He’d also been uninjured unlike Garrus, and had been able to speak to most of the crew unlike Garrus.

That was fine with Garrus. He’d commanded enough. She’d commanded enough. If…when…he found her, he wanted to honor her desire to put down a gun. He was just a Turian on board, doing his job. The work was challenging, difficult and tedious, which was perfect in that it took all of his concentration.

He was motivated.

Morim was always wound into his thoughts, he heard her voice in his head. Joking, solemn, sardonic. Loving. His last thought before he slept was of her, his first thought in the morning was of her, his thoughts and actions in between those moments were the means to finding her.

There were coordinated teams on projects. Right now they’d gotten basics and some more advanced functions of the ship back up. The landing hadn't been that bad, so structural repairs were minor but the entire hull had to be inspected inch by inch, internally and externally, isolated and stress tested to assure she could fly. They’d gotten functions out of the computers and were able to geometrically access more over time, but still no sign of EDI. Tali was up and working, her contributions transformative to the process, moving things along so much faster. All in all things were getting better daily and they had figured their way around the majority of the issues, with ideas on how to fix the rest.

Traynor had promised she could get more function out of the Omni Tools soon once she studied them in their current state. The translators had hard coded processes and they were up immediately without software intervention.

The isolation of the inability to speak had suited him, though he wished he could have done more for Tali than a hug and a relative growl. He’d been alone with his memories of Morim. The chatter of humans was something he couldn’t take time to understand unless it had to do with the job at hand. He spent his time with the technical language of the ship and the guts of complicated processes that had to be reverse engineered to be restarted and then strung together carefully.

He had felt determination and drive, now he felt hope. There was an impromptu celebration in Traynor’s honor in the mess and he went for morale purposes. Not his own, hers. What she had done was some damned fine hacking. He wished he’d talked to her earlier so that she could have tested on him, his plates more resistant to the burning. He imagined the picture he made to the humans. Giant spiky bird monster. 

Stupid lying Turian face.

He wanted to run out into the jungle and howl, collapse against a tree or a stone and stay there.

His mind wasn’t in the game, he couldn’t appreciate small victories. There was only one thing he cared about. He had no clue where Vega was going to take them, where they could go if…when…they got navigation and propulsion back online. He wanted to break things, not fix them. 

He needed to fix them.

So you’re not in command and you shouldn’t be. Doesn’t mean you can’t fake it in her honor.

He didn’t grab alcohol, but he did get something to drink that looked like it, and he walked up to the crowed surrounding Traynor, waiting for a lull in the conversation before he said “Hey, Traynor. That is some quality hacking. Let me know if you need some more help with testing, your arm looks like hell and mine looks like it can take it.”

Samantha gave him a tentative smile and said “Thank you. I credit my misspent youth trying to ponder the greater mysteries of the Universe.”

Garrus smiled and said “All hail the mighty Terms of Service.”

She laughed and was swept away by another crewmate’s shouted thanks, and he let her go. He looked around, trying to find Tali in the crowd. He didn’t see her there so he went to the recently-regained luxury of the elevator and found her at her station.

He said tentatively “Hey, Tali. Did you get your translator fixed?”

Tali tried to make a joke, saying “Why no. I did not.” He could hear the thick tears in her voice, the same he’d heard at Morim’s funeral.

Maybe a hug wasn’t that bad of a thing to give. He stepped closer to her, turned her to face him, and drew her into his arms while her mask slanted away, sounds of crying echoing through the hallway.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Shepard

She had to do something about her leg. She had to do it soon. She had hoped early on that she only had nerve damage, that it was otherwise sound, but as time went by she realized how much literal dead weight she was carrying.

She’d like to salvage the knee, but it was mangled. Antibiotics and regeneration had done only so much and although she didn’t have an infection, her toes were going black.

She’d gotten stronger, though nowhere near as strong as she had been before, the estimation of strength she had at her disposal still being readjusted down. She had gotten used to things not budging. She had everything she needed to survive. She’d scavenged and stockpiled suits, oxygen, food, water, medical supplies, even alcohol. She'd discovered she could get drunk again. 

Yay.

She was in a ward she didn’t know. It’s now Shepard Ward. 

She could find apartments for humans and there was no shortage of space. She was Queen of the Citadel, Lady of the Rotting. She’d seen no Keepers in all her travels and she thought they must have been synthetic enough to be gone. No bodies either, likely self destructed? 

She had found a view of Earth. No Reapers. No orange-fire lakes of destruction. 

She imagined live people down there. She imagined Garrus down there. Could he see the Citadel from where he was? Did he look up, wondering?

Time had been difficult to measure and she had no idea how long she’d been here, but it felt like weeks. 

She’d raided a C-Sec station and had more than enough in terms of guns and ammo if they were ever needed. Right now she mostly used them to shoot out windows when doors were too difficult. 

She had scouted enough and organized enough that she had everything she needed to continue to exist in this environment. She’d located local berths and she slept in a shuttle that was docked securely. She’d managed to get the power up in the shuttle and basic functions like lights and air recycling, but anything having to do with communication or navigation was still dead. She had enough batteries to last several lifetimes based on the relatively tiny power draw of just running the few shuttle functions she used. She spent any time she was sleeping in the pressurized and non-rotting environment. Her base was not far of a painful hike from restaurants and stores that had enough pre-packaged provisions to support her for a very long time. 

Every time she went out unburdened she tried to put at least one body to rest. That might mean a sealed shroud or a chute or a tunnel. She would have liked to build a huge pyre but fire was foolish symbolism that consumed oxygen. She was making slow progress, but it was progress and the stench was clearing marginally. She could escape the smell in the shuttle and that was a blissful reward to an end of a day of gathering and clearing and trying not to choke. She wore a suit now most of the time when she was outside the shuttle, a luxury of scrubbed if stale air and lack of fear from spontaneous depressurization.

The human apartments had yielded a few luxuries. An antique timepiece that worked, though it had to be manually set and cranked. She’d even found a few antique books on display, and she had them in her hoard. She tried to keep her mind busy reading the hard copy specs of the shuttle and surrounding machinery, trying to figure out how to restart them.

She would have to remove her leg before one more pass of the Sun’s light and sweeping shadow of shade over the Earth. 

In the docking space she’d tried to decide on the tools she’d need to amputate her own leg. Her ribs had healed or mostly healed, though they were still painful. She didn’t scream when she breathed, but breathing was labored and ranging from uncomfortable to painful depending on how many painkillers were in her system. She had enough painkillers, but she needed to be clear headed for the procedure itself. She was going to cut off her own leg with a hand torch intended to cut through metal. She had to do it fast and she had to do it clean and hopefully it would cauterize the wound and she wouldn’t bleed out if she passed out.

She’d done some grisly testing on the rotting bodies, and felt she had the torch to the setting where she could cut through bone without effort without too much tissue damage. It took…yeah…it took calibrating.

You’d be proud of me, Garrus.

She had cobbled together a wheelchair, or at least a chair on a rolling platform that would be reasonably stable on flat surfaces like the floor of the bay. She had enough food and water and painkillers in the shuttle to last months of recuperation if necessary. She had serviceable crutches she’d lashed together. She would have liked to locate a medical station, but individual first aid kits had enough for her needs. She doubted the medical equipment would be functioning anyway. 

There's some justification right there. She needed medical equipment badly. She'd have to do without.

Thank you Spirits for the blessings of abundant painkillers.

Karin I wish you were here, or I wish I were where you were, or I just wish…

She considered the angle and got just drunk enough to where her hands wouldn’t shake, waited a little while longer.

She gritted her teeth until she heard a crack and very carefully sliced off her leg. She immediately regretted not putting a towel or something to catch it because she would always now remember the wet sound it made hitting the metal plating combined with the smell and the whine of the torch, the heat and flare on her sweat-swarmed face. 

That, and of course the pain.

Thankfully she did not faint and she was able to turn the torch off, one of the more delicate parts of the whole deal because falling sideways with a cutting torch while made of meat in a space station would be bad. 

Or it would be good and it would be over. Hard to tell sometimes.

You made a promise.

Fuck, I hate promises.

I’m sorry, Garrus.

The painkillers held, mostly, at least enough to still function, if not to escape all of it. Burning, cramping and panic crowded in and she fought to keep it at bay. 

She forced herself to inspect the wound. There was no blood from the seared dark stump and that made her think ‘job well done’ before she slumped back. She loosened the tourniquet tentatively and there was no fresh blood. 

She stared at her leg on the floor, not wanting to have it there when she woke up. Why didn’t I think of how to dispose of my leg? 

There are severed body parts and bodies everywhere. It’s just how we decorate on the Citadel now.

I don’t want to see it when I wake up.

There was a trash chute in the back of the bay and she reached down, picked up her leg by the ankle and rolled back there, opening the chute and shoving the thing into the darkness.

Good.

It’s done.

The chute slammed shut and she promised herself she’d get back to the shuttle soon, she just wanted to lean her forehead against the cool metal and not throw up.

She made her way back, crawled into her nest in the shuttle. Afraid of sleeping. Afraid of waking up. Afraid.

She had promised herself a day of screaming, but she’d just break that into smaller bouts, starting now.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Garrus

The crew of the Normandy had expected him to put her name up as a memorial, but when it came time, amid grieving people standing in solemn reflection, he couldn't do it. He wouldn't let anybody else do it. He walked away with the board bearing her name and guarded it as though someone might try to take it from him and put it up without his permission. Although it had seemed like a cathartic event when Liara brought it up to him, trying to do it had made his thoughts crystallize. He knew that even if he’d put it up, he would have been doing it for other people. But now he wouldn’t indulge any sense of her death. This was fairly merciless, asking everyone else to behave as though she were still waiting, but he demanded it of his crew mates. There would be no acts of betrayal, she wasn’t a memory, she was still real. He wouldn’t allow past tenses in his presence. He had plans to return to the Citadel, and if those plans failed he’d make more plans. Nobody knew what the hell had happened, except that something profound had happened, and that she had likely caused it. It was possible she was still alive.

Even if she were not alive, he would find her body and Miranda.

He’d believed she was dead once, and she had been. 

Dead, though, was no longer the end of hope. That hope curled around his nerves and caused him to move, caused him to act. Without it he would lie down and die himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kaidan had been in and out of the Med Bay, headaches finally gone, but so were his biotics. Karin had spare implants, but not the reliable technology to implant them. She also couldn’t remove the one he had without risking severe neurological damage.

If it happened to Kaidan it likely happened to Morim, and he could learn about it, what he could. Well, who the hell knew what happened to Morim, but he would like all the information he could get.

Liara’s and Javik’s biotics still worked, but they were inherent. Karin was unable to run sufficient testing on internal workings and her best guess was – Kaidan acted it out and shrugged his arms “It’s kaput.”

Kaidan was suffering from systemic shocks, none of them fatal but most of them uncomfortable, and he said it felt like he had a mild flu all the time. 

When Garrus had asked how Kaidan was feeling, Kaidan had been careful and kind, picking up immediately without Garrus having to ask about how it would affect Morim. People didn’t bring up her name around him except to be encouraging, and he was grateful. He could use some encouragement and wasn’t about to throw it aside.

Kaidan had used all the right verb tenses and tried to be helpful despite his own suffering. Garrus realized everyone else missed her too, but didn’t want to compare their grief to his. That should have made Garrus more sociable, but it didn’t. He didn’t want to compare grief at all. Kaidan had said “When we get back to the Citadel we’ll know what happened. We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Shepard

The first time she saw a shuttle in the air she stared at it, a tiny speck of unmistakable mass effect energy moving from the Earth to the Citadel.

It landed…unreachably far from her, but she allowed herself the first spurt of real hope. The people on Earth had figured out how to restart what she couldn’t restart. It could be done. It would be done.

She sat in the same spot for hours, unable to decide what to do. She sat and watched until the same blue light moved away, back to Earth. A scouting mission?

She had no idea who was on that shuttle, what their intentions were or what they would do if she met them.

She didn’t want to advertise “COMMANDER SHEPARD INSIDE” to everyone. What she needed to do was figure out how to communicate with Earth now that she was absolutely sure that it was possible.

Her leg had healed. It had been a month, more or less, since she'd spent days of pain, mental suffering of all sorts hammering on her all at once. She dreamed of Garrus dead, she dreamed of having to remove more limbs. She dreamed and screamed and woke to shaking attempts to find more medication in order to drive herself back into the stupor where she wasn’t in as much physical pain but the dreams and the loss of her conscious mind had her at their mercy.

One day she'd woken up with the pain still intense, but her mind more her own. She’d felt the reassertion of survival instincts and problem solving goals.

She was fucked up, desperate, deranged and in pain, but she could tell she was healing and that raised her motivation and spirits. She adopted a workout regimen to gauge and build strength. She was getting pretty good at crutches and greased hell at hopping. She could competitively hop now, she was sure of it. No more super lady strength and running was definitely out, but she did pull ups daily, reminding herself of Vega and beating his record. She was nowhere near 183 pull ups, but look on the bright side, she was carrying less weight.

Too soon?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Garrus

They'd gotten to this planet at FTL speed, a short burst that took less than a minute. It would take them a month to get back to Earth traveling at sub light speeds. He wanted to go directly to the Citadel, but they were going to Earth. He wanted to argue, but he wouldn't. They needed information and Earth was the best place to get that. It had a view of ground zero of what had happened. It was possible that only the Normandy had escaped that conflagration and that Earth and the Citadel were ruins, but he needed to know. Everyone needed to know. Tali wanted to know about the Quarian fleet, particularly if they'd been robbed of tech as the Normandy had been. Liara wanted to know what happened to Thessia. Garrus wanted to know about Palaven, but this was also about proximity. They'd gotten here without a mass effect relay. They couldn't go on a tour of the galaxy. The closest relay was the Sol system.

Joker had reconstructed what he could of where they were and felt he could navigate back based on star charts and the less than sophisticated methods he had of propulsion.

Garrus felt reassured in that odd human way of minimizing effort that he’d become familiar with when he joined Joker on the CIC and was told that Earth was "thataway" with a wave of his hand. 

The Engineering crew was at their stations and most everyone else was on the CIC, crowded in to see if the Normandy really would be able to drag her low-tech ass off the ground. She'd done well so far, generators humming and the walls awake with the thrumming of trade in information, fuel and power. The sound had helped Garrus sleep. 

Mostly the exhaustion helped him sleep.

When they all felt the familiar and longed-for roar of the engines waking up fully for the first time in too long, there was a massive cheer with back slapping and jumping embraces.

Joker held his hands up and said "Ladies and Gentlemen and…well, you other guys…aliens and such…here we go. She's going to hold together. And if she doesn't, it was great knowing you."

There were groans and laughter and James yelled "Just do it!"

They lifted off the ground and sailed thataway to cheers and hugs and Joker's shout of "Ride 'em cowboy!"

Garrus saw Joker’s eyes drift to EDI’s position. Jeff gave her a smile that hurt to see, then a thumbs up, and he then looked back to the path in front of them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Shepard

Shuttles had begun to sprout and dart from Earth to the Citadel with more frequency. She still hadn't managed to get any communication up, so she'd have to get her information second hand. She would have ideally liked to contact the Alliance and get a line to Hackett directly and arrange a pickup.

She waited until a shuttle had landed close enough to reach in a reasonable amount of time. Suited, she walked with a swinging-leg gait, supported by the low-tech solution of foam stuffed into the leg of the suit. She wasn't all that stealthy but she doubted they were going to be terribly alert to attack. Four months and no life signs were probably convincing enough to whoever was landing that what was left was salvage. She muffled the bottom of the feet of the suit with more foam temporarily.

She just needed to make sure they weren't pirates.

To her tentative relief on observation she saw Alliance soldiers, Alliance uniforms and Alliance shuttles.

They could be stolen or impostors, but she didn't want to let paranoia deny her the chance to get back to Earth.

Fuck it, she was going to be as paranoid as she wanted to be, she'd earned it.

She watched her targeted shuttle as a team of two human men and two human women in Alliance uniform solemnly surveyed the wreckage. She wasn't close enough to overhear. She waited until they broke up and she followed one of them at a distance, watching her target pick her way through a body-choked hallway. The look of solemn grief and loss on the soldier's face was what convinced Morim to try the easy way and not the hard way. She didn’t see the glee or disrespect of a salvage crew.

Shepard was suited, her voice was distorted, and she could at least introduce herself as a survivor, see what shook loose. If she had a bad feeling she would just fucking kill all of them and take the shuttle.

She had about 10 yards of distance and she didn't want to scare the everloving shit out of this woman, but didn't know if she could avoid it. 

Morim tapped lightly on the wall to get the soldier’s attention and said a quiet and nonthreatening "Hey."

The woman was still startled, letting out a brief shriek and then regaining her composure within seconds. The young woman did not draw her weapon.

They stared at each other for long moments and Shepard felt her rusty voice hold back after having spoken first, waiting to see what would happen.

The young woman didn't move, adopting an alert and cautious stance. Shepard didn't have her guns drawn, but lots of weaponry was ostentatiously visible for the occasion and her hand was flexed in position to draw.

After clearing her throat and saying "Shit, that scared the hell out of me" the young woman said "Do you need help?"

Shepard said "Forgive me, I'd like your identity before I answer that. Name, rank and mission?"

The young woman hit parade rest stance and said "Velan Ranafere. Ensign. We are here for scouting and recovery."

Shepard said carefully "Thank you. Recovery of what? This is my station and I don't like pirates."

Velan's lips twitched and she said "We were hoping to recover Commander Shepard. Have you perhaps seen her?"

Shepard stood solidly on her good leg, happy to hear no actual creaking from the trembling in her knee. She took off her helmet, shook her hair out, assuming her face was enough identification and said “I have. She would like to get the hell off this station.”

Velan saluted and said “Welcome back, Commander Shepard.”

Morim did not know this woman, did not know what to say to her. Hadn’t said anything in a long time. She took the cue of Commander Shepard and saluted back. “Thank you Corporal Ranafere.” She said with private dark humor that didn’t really reach her voice “We should go.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She was lucky in her company back down to Earth. She knew she stank and nobody mentioned it. She walked the brief way back to the shuttle and nobody offered to help her after looking at her face, though there were shared glances between them about her leg. She was a soldier again. She hadn’t truly been a soldier like this since she’d been made a Spectre, but the boundaries and constraints kept her from crying or grabbing someone by the front of their uniform and demanding to be told what had happened to the crew of the Normandy.

The people in the shuttle with her, Marset, Velan, Sinfa and Cardalom were respectful and friends enough with each other through her analysis of their body language and tone to put her at ease in their company, if not to join in.

Velan got on the Comm to Earth and reported that Commander Shepard had found her, which made Morim smile and the others felt comfortable enough to join in with snickering and laughter. Then a long silence dragged out until she said lightly “So…what’s new?”

To relieved laughter and some babbling, they took turns answering questions she didn’t have to ask. The Reapers had fallen over in their tracks, their bodies littering Earth, their derelict forms floating through space. Their wreckage provided meteor showers every night and debris crashing down by day. It was mostly under control though, the largest menaces having been deflected or damage already done.

It had been 3 months and 17 days since her assault on the Citadel.

Morim took in all the information they could give, nodding and encouraging them to tell her more.

She already knew about tech and synthetic loss, they confirmed it. They’d been able to restart most tech and rebuilding and recovery was taking place. No live Reaper forces had been sighted since the day Shepard had gone through the beam. 

Losses were huge. Based on early reports, about 40% of the population of Earth had survived.

They didn’t know what happened to the Normandy. After the burst from the Citadel, she was gone, but she had been reporting in and fine up to that point. No wreckage. Velan had told her that quietly from the pilot’s chair.

She didn’t answer any questions implied and they were too military and obviously in awe to ask directly. They fed her what they knew and she was horrified, disappointed and elated all at once.

Nobody had known what had happened to her up until an hour ago. Not knowing what happened was better than being sure they were all dead. 

Not as good as having Garrus waiting for her on Earth.

A long road stretched out in front of her. She still had to find him.

She’d thought very carefully about what to say about the Catalyst. Her answers and experience and choices in full were not comforting or helpful in any way to military strategy or rebuilding. She’d experienced a unique confluence of events that would not be repeated and if disclosed would open her to endless and heated speculation. She wanted no part of the legacy reality offered her.

She was going to do something she’d always done well. 

She was going to lie.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Decontamination was near bliss in results if not in practice, she was finally clean.

Debriefing was not so blissful.

Hackett had arrived in her hospital room quickly and had been able to speak to her while doctors were examining the preliminary imaging they’d gotten from her, planning procedures. Fun. They'd set down in London, since the majority of military had made their push there and the Citadel was in geosynchronous orbit above.

The medical facilities were nearly back to normal functioning. They had the best drugs. She appreciated the ability to keep a clear head while not feeling pain, because she needed to keep a clear head, get as much information as she could, decide whether or not she had to beg, borrow or steal a ship to go searching.

She wasn't done yet.

If she could have everything she wanted, she'd ask them to tear every nanogram of tech out of her body, starting with the biotic implant, ending with the Cerberus upgrades. She wanted to smash the remnants of her Omni Tool under her feet. She wanted to be untrackable, unobservable, off the grid. She didn’t want any possible recordings of previous events coming to light. She wanted no future possible recordings of any events.

But…she couldn't have what she wanted yet, she wasn't done.

Tech and biotics were strength and utility she might need to find him. Her restored Omni Tool might still be connected to his.

Hackett was exhausted and thin. He was gratifyingly and unprofessionally glad to see her. He had organized the scouting efforts to the Citadel to find her.

She thanked him sincerely and informed him that Anderson had died.

She told him about the encounter with the Illusive Man, but she kept the story easy to remember. She’d learned her lesson about complicated narratives being overthrown by simpler ones. There was a confrontation over a control console. The Illusive Man had shot Anderson and she had talked the Illusive Man into trying to break his indoctrination until he shot himself, as she had with Saren. 

She'd told Hackett "Garrus said once about our missions ‘There’s usually a button to push, but Shepard usually hogs that part.’ As usual, there was a button, I pushed it, I successfully hogged that part. Then everything went black."

Forgive me Garrus for using your name to lie effectively. It makes my face appropriately tight and convincing.

She answered all his questions, but played dumb, stubborn, short and pained, which wasn’t a hard leap. She was only exaggerating what was already there.

Hackett took her hand, the first personal contact with another living being she’d had in months. It made her want to jump out of her skin. She was on her guard, able to control her body language, so instead of flinching she smiled at him, thanked him again for rescuing her from the Citadel and closed her eyes until he left.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

Since he'd gotten his Omni Tool back he'd been writing messages to Morim, but none of his messages had been sent. He'd wake, he’d think of her, he’d check the time he’d been gone from her and he'd check to see if his messages had turned from red pending status to green received status.

He hadn't threatened to kill her once. No past tenses. He read through some of them.

I am alive. You'd better be alive too.

Everyone is alive, EDI is dormant. Where are you?

The Normandy is space worthy again. We're coming to find you.

I miss you, Venri. Seeing you in my dreams is not enough.

We are approaching the Sol system, I will see you soon.

One day he woke and the messages had been assigned sent status, but he saw no messages in return. 

They were not far from Earth. Maybe they were just close to the network. But it meant…he didn't know what it meant.

He rushed to the CIC and asked Traynor "I've got an update to my Omni Tool of messages sent to Shepard's Omni Tool. We're in range of a comm buoy?"

Traynor nodded excitedly and said "Yes, we're starting to be able to get communication. Just recently. It's still distorted and we're missing a lot of the data. I'm trying to triangulate the new signals from Earth, it shouldn't be long."

Garrus almost hopped out of impatience but he held still and said "Is there anything I can do to help? Go outside the hull and hold out an antenna? Bang rocks together?"

Traynor said "If you could…you could use her console. Over there. See what you can do."

He walked to Morim's station with a frisson of nerves and anticipation, bypassing her personal menus and digging into the programming. He was impressed again by Traynor's tenacity and genius in using every possible resource the Normandy had to be able to pick up transmissions at speed.

Between the two of them they closed a few processes that were creating static and managed to more precisely receive and send. They both worked through to a signal cleared to 73% accuracy. Traynor looked at Garrus and he looked back at her and they ran to the cockpit from opposite sides. He let her go in first, and she skidded to a stop in front of Joker, tapped on his console rapidly and said "Try to raise Alliance command."

Joker's eyes went wide. He cleared his throat and coughed once, and then activated the Comm. "Alliance Command, this is the SR-2 Normandy. Do you read me?"

There was a static-charged moment and then a response "SR-2 Normandy, we read you. Not so loud, not so clear, but we've got you. Welcome back."

Traynor shouted and jumped up and down, then ran to hug Garrus, who was startled, but when he thought of what she'd managed to get done, he spun her around twice.

Joker whooped and then continued “Thank you Alliance Command. Requesting information on the status of Commander Shepard.”

There was a long moment of waiting. Garrus put Traynor down and quiet descended as static returned from the Comm until the disembodied voice said “Commander Shepard is alive and in London.”

Garrus sank slowly to the floor, crashing to his knees and drawing his first terror-free breath. Traynor’s hands went to his shoulder, gripping tightly.

He heard Joker say “Thank you, Alliance Command, requesting a berth closest to wherever she is.”

With directions relayed they were only two hours away.

Only two hours away from her. 

She was alive.

Joker opened ship wide comm and announced “Normandy crew, we are two hours out from berthing in London, where Alliance Command is active and Commander Shepard is alive.”

He closed the announcement, allowing everyone to let that sink in, and he turned and winked at EDI. “We get to go out somewhere nice for once, EDI, somewhere without a war. There’s going to be dancing. I promise.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There was celebration, people streaming to the CIC from their stations, asking to hear the broadcast again. Garrus left only to go check on her fish and hamster again, they’d all made it. The pump and feeder was active in the aquarium again. He'd taken some time to fix it, unwilling to allow any casualties on the Normandy. He'd set up Boo with automated feeding and water from external reservoirs, which could keep him going for a month. He didn’t need to panic or grab everything from the cabin, or even anything. The Normandy would be there. On second thought he had no idea if Turians had any food sources on Earth, but there was enough here. He packed a bag with enough food for himself for at least a week and some clothing. He only brought one rifle. Habit. He headed back to the air lock to wait.

James wandered up with his hands over his chest and said “The debriefing’s going to be a bitch. Alliance personnel are going to be stuck in processing for a while.”

Garrus said grimly “I’m going to the hospital.”

James nodded and said “And I’m going with you. I’m the commander of this vessel and you’re not exactly Alliance, are you? They’ve got no right to process a representative from Palaven. But I figure you could use a wing man. Translators may not be up and running and Alliance personnel might not be as cooperative as they should be.”

Garrus considered and wondered if Morim would be able to understand him. 

He’d be able to understand her.

Garrus grinned and said “You look like you’re hoping for a fight.”

James said “Maybe. Been a while now since someone tried to kill me. I get twitchy.”

Garrus barked a brief laugh and then said “Thank you.”

James snorted and said with soft intensity “Nah. I’m doing it for her. For some reason she likes your scaly ass. I’ll never understand it.”

Garrus said “Neither will I.”

They disembarked in the no-longer-smoking but still mostly-blackened wreck of London’s space port. Their arrival had been fast, there were no preparations for them other than a military welcome in the form of a few soldiers in dress uniforms. It was relayed that Vega had orders to report to Hackett and everyone else that was Alliance was to go with him for debriefing.

Vega listened and then ordered provisions and berths for the non-Alliance members of his crew, pointing out Javik, Tali and Liara. He informed them of Diana’s presence and her clearance, also requesting provisions and berth for her as well. Vega said he would report to Admiral Hackett after he had escorted Advisor Vakarian to his wife.

Absolutely nobody looked like they wanted to argue, which made Vega’s chest puff out a bit…puff out a bit more…and he was assured that what he asked for would happen.

Vega and Garrus were driven to a superficially damaged but hastily repaired hospital. Security was fortunately tight so he didn’t have to throw a fit worrying about her safety. He tried to look dignified and Advisorish to make Vega’s job easier. Not that most humans could tell the difference between Turian expressions. Not that Vega wanted an easy job, but haste was preferred.

They still didn’t know why she was in the hospital. Information had been scarce over an open comm line. They were stopped at the final checkpoint by a woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mbega. She was a tiny dark woman who had to crane her neck to look up at Garrus. She seemed to know his relationship to Morim and his presumed rights and treated him with respect. 

She said “Mr. Vakarian.”

He wanted to correct her and ask her to call him Shepard, but he just listened.

She continued “Your wife was alone on the Citadel for three months and seventeen days, she fended for herself. She has been here for nine days. She had severe injuries, the main long-term physical consequence was that she had to amputate her right leg above the knee.”

Vega swore a string of curses and Garrus felt his mandibles flare and his stomach plummet. He nodded for her to go on.

She nodded in return and continued briskly “She is as well as we can make her. She suffered multiple broken bones and punctured lungs, lacerations, contusions and abrasions and had no help in healing those things other than the most rudimentary of medications and supplies from scavenged first aid kits. She has a remarkable healing process, though she tells me it used to be better. It is a miracle she survived at all. We have all hopes that she will respond to our rehabilitation efforts and she will recover. We wish to provide her with a prosthetic for the leg. She does not want a prosthetic, but perhaps you could convince her it might be best if she had it for the occasions she might need or want one to make her life easier. We have offered to help fix her implants, but she wants no work done, though she insisted on the translator being replaced. She was in surgery earlier today to re-break and re-set some of the bones that had not mended properly. She has undergone this procedure a few times and will need to undergo it in the future. She has assured me she is…greatly diminished compared to her prior performance.”

Garrus nodded again, sick and angry at himself, that constant drag of not having been there for her.

The doctor continued, more confidentially, attempting kindness and not professional starch. “I did not know Commander Shepard before this incident, so I do not know who she was before. I do know that she is in a great deal of pain and she cannot sleep without severe nightmares that threaten her physical and psychological recovery. I have taken the liberty of adjusting her medication to spare her that.”

Garrus nodded again and said “She never could sleep. This isn’t new, but she has had…assistance in the past.”

Vega clenched his jaw but said nothing. Dr. Mbega nodded and continued “She is sedated to allow her to rest. But I believe…to see you would be…good for her.”

Vega said bluntly with hopeful humor “Plus you don’t want her to kill you because you kept her from her husband.”

Doctor Mbega smiled and she answered “Yes, I do not want that. From the way she speaks of her husband and looks for him in each word and each corner, I feel that she might. She says that she has greatly diminished capacity but I may perhaps be forgiven if I believe she certainly could kill me were I to displease her in that fashion.”

Garrus smiled and said “Thank you. For taking care of her.”

She smiled, pleased, and said “You are welcome. I believe I have done what I can do for her body and we will continue to help her with that. I would be glad to see if you could help heal her heart. We have all seen enough tragedy.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

She hadn’t been dreaming, but she felt she was slipping into one, up into her memories of him. It felt like waking, but it couldn’t be. She'd had dreams like this before. She was leaning against him. She could smell him. She could hear him breathe, feel the rise and fall of his chest. One of her hands was cradled in one of his. She wanted to stay here, just be here for a little while longer. She knew she’d wake up and he wouldn’t be there, but just for now, it felt real enough to fuel her hope through long waking hours of misery without him. These dreams always burned off fast, like mirages of heat over the boiling pain underneath. She felt panic at only having a few seconds more with him before he evaporated. She opened her eyes and looked up quickly. He was looking down at her, solemn blue eyes in the near dark of what looked like her hospital room with the blinds closed and door shut. She rushed to kiss him, wanting to press this feeling deep into her impressionable mind so these sensations wouldn’t all fade away in seconds. She traced her fingers over his mandibles, his neck, clutching at him and waiting for him to leave her, to change, to transform.

He didn’t.

His arm tightened around her shoulder and he kissed her back, a soft groan-growl from his throat reverberating through her. She whimpered and thought ‘Best. Dream. Ever.,’ pressing against his mouth, hungry and frantic and gratifyingly impressed by the detail she would be able to recall later in her waking hours, each tiny or not so tiny point of his body through their clothes pressing into her skin. She whispered into his mouth “I miss you so much. Please, please, please…Garrus, come back to me.”

In answer he pulled her tighter to him and said “Always” in a broken voice, a promise.

Ironic dreams. They were better than the other kinds of dreams. She was going to pay for this in deepened despair when she woke up, but for right now…

A bit of medical equipment far away shrilled an alarm and she panicked, thinking “That’s it, I’m going to wake up.” She clutched at him in futile despair, expecting him to disappear, the room to swirl away. 

Nothing moved. She jerked and froze like a startled deer, disoriented and flighty.

She looked at him and he looked at her, then he curled his hand behind her neck and pulled her forehead to his crest. He said “Venri, I’m real. This isn’t a dream. I’m really here. I’ve had enough dreams of my own with you in them to know that look. I won’t disappear.”

She said placatingly “That’s nice, but I don’t really believe you. You’re a vision. Someone found an Asari to give me what I wanted because I’m just not playing nice with my recovery.”

He laughed and his voice was teasing as he said “Nobody expects you to play nice, Morim. Not anybody who has ever met you. Your doctor has concerns about you killing her.”

She said suspiciously “I’m unconscious. I’m sedated. I know they’re giving me the fancy drugs. I can’t wake up because I’m drugged asleep. I’m not complaining. Everything fucking hurts, Garrus.”

He shrugged and said gently, his eyes filled with humor “You’ll figure it out when you don’t wake up. Or when you get tired in your dream and I’m still there to help you go back to sleep without nightmares. I’ll still be here, Venri.”

The medical equipment shrilled again and she opened her mouth to be suspicious. He kissed her again, Reverie trickling into her starved system, causing trembles and moans.

She considered the irony of asking an ironic dream if they were real and instead jumped out of his arms and hopped like crazy over to the door of the hospital room, wrenching it open and shouting “DR. MBEGA!” into the hallway.

She looked back. Fake Garrus sat back in his chair, a smile on his face, shaking his head slightly with his arms settling over his chest as he refused to dissipate. So maybe he was a hallucination. 

She hissed “If you’re a hallucination you are in So. Much. Trouble.”

Dr. Mbega rushed over and said “Commander Shepard, you need to rest.”

Morim pointed at Garrus and said “Is he real? Can you see him?”

Dr. Mbega looked startled and said “Yes, Commander Shepard. That is your husband. The Normandy returned safe with all hands earlier. He wished to surprise you.”

She stood entirely still until the trembling started, staring at the doctor and taking in what she'd said. 

Returned safe with all hands.

She said “Thank you” politely and then as an afterthought said “I am surprised.” Then she slammed the door shut. 

When she turned around Garrus was right there, inches away. She almost crashed into him in her haste to hop back to him, but he stopped her forward motion by lifting her into his arms. She said in blurted, flustered explanation “I’m drugged. It’s not really paranoia. People have been trying to kill me for a while. Shit got weird.” Trembles turned into violent shaking, waves of released grief and worry crashing over her.

He said a gentle “Mmm hmm…” into her hair, the soft purr of his chest reaching through their clothing to her skin. She clutched at him and cried while he held her. He sat on the edge of the bed with her cradled in his lap, whispering her name and that he loved her, that he was here, that he wouldn't leave. 

She couldn't believe it, didn't believe it for a while, still hoping she wouldn't wake.

I'm sorry Garrus, if this is a hallucination. I miss you so much. I want to stay with you, even if it’s just a dream. Just for a little while. I really don't want to wake up.

His plates felt different under her fingertips, with new dents and buckles. The quality of dream cleared as the sedation left her system. She began to believe it might be reality because the details of his body under her fingers didn't change with several passes. In dreams she'd never be able to repeat an action by will, she'd be pulled away from her own thoughts and details would change. When she had the courage to open her eyes she saw new scars on his face and skin. She reached out her hands and traced fingertips over his face and he lifted a hand to her face, tracing her new scars and marks, smoothing his hands over her tattoos. 

He smiled, coughed lightly and said "That…uh…that may not have been the best way to say hello."

She smiled back and said "It was perfect. You can't help it that I'm an idiot. I'm…I'm a little messed up."

He raised a brow plate "Just a little?"

She pressed her lips together and said "Just a lot. But I feel much better now. You're here."

The burgeoning weight of too many questions and answers was on both of them. Before either of them could find new words, they spent unmeasured moments reassuring themselves that they were really there. They kissed and touched with trembling hands and mouths, pressured declarations and breathless reassurances in their voices, both tentatively convinced by the call for and response of a longed-for reality.


	33. Chapter 33

Garrus

She put on her brave face for visitors. She put on her brave face for doctors and representatives of the Alliance. She was always brave of course, but this was a different type of bravery than that required to face an enemy. This was the guarded and recursive bravery of experience she’d gained from facing down friends and allies. She had the same camouflaged determination in answering a simple welcome home question as she’d had arguing with Wrex over support for Palaven. He grew to be sure that she did not feel safe. She did not have the easy manner he knew as her hallmark. Yes, she was traumatized, but when had that not been true? She was still at war. She used her fatigue as an excuse to defer questions often. She was fatigued, yes, but she feigned and exaggerated it for her own unseen and unspoken purposes. He knew she could still, in this shape, have killed most of the people on this floor before they were aware she was armed. She probably wouldn’t have to be armed, it just might take just a little bit longer, but make less noise. He'd heard the story about how she'd ambushed the recovery team on the Citadel, armed and suited and claiming the station as her own. Her diminished capacity was still beyond most people’s capability, and her mind was blessedly intact. That had always been her best weapon and it was undimmed or she wouldn’t be managing this psychological fan dance.

When he'd asked her about her implants and her resistance to their repair obliquely and casually, her gaze had slipped to his arm, where his Omni Tool was. She had looked expansively around the room and said as though it were a joke “Garrus, I can tell you that right now the same way I could have told you about my strategy on the CIC of the SR-2 when we first got there.” Her eyes were not joking.

He understood the answer: "I can't tell you here."

To other implied questions she assured him ‘later’ not in words, but in the same signals they’d developed over years of concealing their purpose from surveillance while telegraphing true intent to each other. Her eyes and hands made promises only he could see.

Her reserve and calculation slipped off like the costume it was when he was near and they were alone. He saw less of Shepard and more of his Venri. She was physically weaker by far, partly from the loss of her implants and partly from injury and deconditioning. He expected her to be frustrated by her weakness, but instead she was dealing with it in a way he would never have predicted. If anything she was seeking weakness.

He just didn’t know why.

He stayed with her in the hospital, every moment. She slept in his arms and the medical staff never asked him to leave. They tended to treat him like a nonverbal bodyguard and he encouraged that impression. He was sure concerns for her security had been so impressed on them that they were grateful for his presence. He observed when she was in surgery. He held her hand when she underwent exams and procedures. He assisted her feigned fatigue with glares and if that didn't work, occasionally growls and a silent but escalating predatory stance. This was directed at anybody attempting to cross her carefully defined borders, either by repeating medical advice she hadn’t welcomed the first time or by asking questions she'd already declined to answer.

Hackett was accustomed to being able to order Morim to do things, and Morim was not orderable at this moment. Hackett was trying to flog her one more mile for the good of the Alliance. Hackett tried to hammer at her, made further attempts at interrogation, asking her to repeat her story as though it were testimony. Failing that, he had urged her to take immediate steps toward establishing her presence back on Earth publically for morale. The real word that should have been used was propaganda and everyone in the room knew it. After she had given several polite negative or deferring answers, her face had tightened to a look Garrus recognized. She wanted to hit Hackett herself. Garrus had stepped between them, using his height advantage and righteous anger. He’d growled at Hackett, entirely willing to do bodily harm deferred in the past if Hackett did not back down. Morim’s time spent incarcerated “for the good of the Alliance” didn’t seem to be something that Hackett remembered. Time to remind him. When Hackett had finally taken a good read of the room and compared it to his purposes, he had apologized and there had been no more pressure from him. He'd extended friendship, expressions of support and a promise to Garrus that if they needed anything, to ask. Garrus’s intervention had caused her carefully tragic face to break into a huge smile when they were finally alone. He got a hand squeeze and an "I love you so much" from her with a follow up kiss to be remembered. He’d half expected her to chew him out for intervening, which could have been interpreted, as always, as a sign of her weakness. It confirmed that she wanted to be seen as weak and he hadn’t read her wrong.

She'd been the unquestioned…okay, occasionally questioned…alpha for so long and now she was ceding that territory to him, not just privately, but in public and ostentatiously so. He was still hypervigilant to what it was she wanted and was trying to get her what he thought that might be without her having to tell him. She wasn’t without will, he wasn’t without service. It conspired to look like he was in charge to outsiders who didn’t have the signals from her or the knowledge of her that he had. She would express a softly spoken or implied preference, he would provide the muscle to hold that line. She could have done it on her own. She wouldn’t have caved to Hackett or medical demands, but Garrus took a fierce joy in conveying more forceful and aggressive expressions of her preferences. He'd choked back his own protective instincts and given them outlet only through his rifle for years, but now they were allowed full range. It was blissful to directly intervene on her behalf and he was always rewarded for it. She never called him off or discouraged his posturing. Her smiles and looks and comments when they were alone conveyed to him that she knew he was doing it and enjoying it, and she wanted him to enjoy himself.

Finally.

She had near constant visitors until he’d limited the hours available for visitation with Dr. Mbega’s sanction and Morim's accelerated healing and ability to rest. Visitors brought them food and news and stories. There were flowers and mementos of hoped healing around her hospital room and a room adjacent was filled with the same.

He’d been close enough to wake and soothe her through nightmares and she'd needed less sedation.

Their bodies burned for it, but no sex in the hospital. Endless kissing.

Her sense of paranoia was a real thing, sitting between them like a camera, influencing her moves and choices. She would kiss and cling and cry and cradle his head between her hands. He knew he was not the problem, she made that clear.

But there were problems. Two in particular. Technology and the word ‘hero.’

It was subtle, but he knew her, and he knew her moods and her behavior. Congratulations and visits from anybody from the Normandy, anybody that had served with her, they could tell her anything, call her anything. She was there for that, there for them. She was herself, with her easy charm and humor, only limited by her real fatigue and pain and the strain of staying on whatever her script was while on medication.

There were polite and less than polite requests from reporters, but she spoke only to Diana, who had the same rules of casual ease and trust as anyone else who had served on the Normandy. Diana was the primary source of information regarding the Normandy’s trials, missions, crew and history. Diana had earned exclusives through trial by combat. Morim rewarded her lavishly for her discretion and help while on the Normandy and signed off on several pieces Diana had prepared ahead of time with the promise of declassification later. As a side result, Javik became a celebrity of the same caliber Wrex had been after Saren.

Morim’s telling of events at the Citadel was short and convincing, and he was sure there was more to it. She wasn’t known as a liar because she was so good at it and never got caught, so he wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t questioned on the details she presented. She only allowed herself a brief stiffening of the spine and a slightly stilted smile when someone praised her for her heroics. It probably looked like pride to someone else, but it became more and more painful to him personally as he saw the pattern repeat. Everyone wanted to thank her for her heroics, and she felt as though she were being stabbed in the heart when she heard that word.

Morim always offloaded the credit to her crew, to those who had given their lives to the conflict. She’d always been this way, but it was becoming less a preference and more an imperative.

He saw the problems, just not the solutions.

Morim made no move to either resign or reassert her command. She’d saluted James and called him Commander.

Liara had visited and there had been tears, but no melding of minds. If the pattern continued, he wondered if she would ever tell him what was bothering her or if it would fester, or if it would heal and pass away into memory with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders and an insightful remark about her odd behavior.

Her leg didn’t bother her at all in comparison to the words. She didn’t want a prosthetic, though he’d asked of her and she’d allowed one that was mechanical to be made. It was nothing like the more advanced and stabilized technological wonders that were possible. To be fair, it was for her foot and not her hand, so there was no real need for all the bells and whistles…except that a very good one would be seamless and help her, people wouldn’t know that she had lost a leg at all. She deserved a very good one.

It didn’t bother him. Entirely to the contrary. He’d happily carry her everywhere. Off with the other one. Perhaps she didn’t know how Turians valued scars. A missing limb was an even greater sign of valor. As far as valor went, she visually outranked him now. As she should. He’d always felt vaguely sorry for her, looking as though she’d never seen battle.

Perhaps that was what it was about. Symbols. Memorials.

The war was over, whatever she had been, she didn’t want to be a hero. Her reaction to being called a Siha with rejection was resonant with this behavior.

EDI was gone, and if EDI had no technical upgrades, neither would Morim.

Spirits, Morim, your poetry makes your life difficult. This was perhaps her grief made solid in the world.

They were out of the hospital within a week of his arrival. They were moved to an undamaged apartment close enough to the hospital for house calls. Tali and Traynor had both swept for bugs, finding none. Once Tali and Traynor had left, James had made certain nobody entered, and had arranged for prominent security on entry chokepoints by volunteer past and present crew members of the Normandy. Javik, Wrex, Grunt and many humans had volunteered for guard rotation, leaving the entrance Morim and Garrus used unmanned, but not unwatched. Dr. Mbega would make the trip to them more often than Morim would travel back to the hospital. Karin had promised to be by often. She’d transferred her skills to the hospital and had aided in Morim’s care before discharge.

When they went to the new apartment they had no personal belongings to move themselves. He had a bag with the same amount of food in it along with the rifle. She’d brought nothing from the Citadel and had left something behind. Someone had found a fish tank and transported all her fish here, and Boo was in his cage. Ship models were across one wall. Fortunately no screaming head. He hoped Vega had commandeered it and he’d never see it again. There was a full Turian and human pantry and working kitchen. There was a working refrigerator and freezer full of prepared food and including luxuries, he’d been told, like ice cream. Celebratory bottles of human alcohol favoring whiskey and Turian alcohol had been delivered.

They’d been escorted here and she’d walked through the large room, an exposed picture window on one side. She’d taken off her prosthetic leg and leaned her shoulder on the frame, looking out at the devastated city. There were huge fallen bodies of Reapers strewn to the horizon, the arching shapes inescapable. Nowhere for the eye to rest without a reminder. His instincts still made him nervous. He didn’t want her anywhere near a window like that. If he wanted her to loosen her hypervigilance he should lighten up on his…except that it wasn’t paranoia. There were and likely are those who would want to kill her for whatever stupid reasons people come up with for wanting to kill her. Did indoctrination tech stop without a signal or were there individual artifacts that worked independently? Could there be newly indoctrinated forces even now?

He could just convince her to stop standing there like a huge target. Her hair was up. He stepped behind her and played with the wisps that trailed down her neck, kissing the skin there. He snapped the hair tie with a flick of a talon, spreading her hair and pulling his fingers through it. She leaned back against him and said “Picture window is bugging the crap out of you, huh?”

He laughed and said “I’m going to pick you up now. Partly because of the window, but mostly because I want to pick you up.”

She hit a control and the window went opaque, blinds coming down. She said “I could do without the view anyway.”

He lifted her in his arms and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. He said “I can carry you over a threshold. Isn’t that a human tradition? After being married?”

She smiled and said “Yes, right after a marriage though, and the threshold into a building, not the thresholds inside a building.”

He said regretfully “Damn. Oh well, fuck it. We’ll start new traditions. Grab the bottles.” He leaned her down and she picked up a bottle of Turian liquor and a bottle of whiskey. He prompted “Glasses too.”

She said “Oh screw the glasses, live it up, drink from the bottle.”

He gave her a slow look up and down and said “Uncivilized. I like it.”

She muffled a snort as he carried her into the bedroom. No stupid picture windows. Good. He sat down in a Turian style chair. Someone had taken pains to make the apartment human and Turian friendly. Small favors were appreciated. He took his bottle from her and opened it, took a swig and she did the same with hers.

He said quietly “Okay, now the interrogation.”

She quickly took another swig and said “Wait, wait. No, wait, I need to be reeeeally drunk for that one.”

He commented “I know you’re concerned about my Omni Tool and monitoring but believe me, after what we just went through Traynor taught me more about it than I thought possible. Nobody is watching or listening to us through this thing. We also did a security sweep on the apartment.”

She nodded and said “Okay. Thank you for your patience and planning ahead. Spoiler Alert. I am going to be very upset. I may throw things.”

He hissed and said “As long as it’s not the alcohol.”

She tilted her head and said “I am weak willed, weak of body and I was planning on telling you anyway, so you’re in luck.”

He almost spit out his swig. “Weak willed my ass.”

She laughed and said “But you agree about weak of body?”

He shrugged and said cheerfully “Yup. That’s just science.”

She held out her remaining leg and said “I have a really weird number of toes now.”

He nudged her and said “Quit stalling. Spill.”

She took a deep breath and a hard pull on the bottle, and rested it on her lap. He waited patiently. She said “Anderson went up the beam first. He got to a console before I did. When I got there the Illusive Man was in the room. He had definitely figured out some things about indoctrination. He was trying to convince me to use that power, control the Reapers. He was able to control me there for a while. He made me shoot Anderson.”

Garrus closed his eyes and pressed his hand to her hair, cradling her head in his comparatively huge palm. Morim said “I have had time to…I mean, these aren’t fresh wounds. Three plus months alone is some time to process. There are nightmares, but…anyway. Anderson didn’t die immediately. He and I convinced the Illusive Man that he was indoctrinated. He was as far gone as Saren had been, sprouting circuitry. He could have just looked in a mirror. He took a gun to his head.”

Garrus held very still, though he wanted to growl. She was telling him, and telling him without reservation, because he’d asked her to. He might be dreaming now, best to not interrupt.

She took another pull from the bottle and said “Oh yeah, getting drunk. I did that a lot on the Citadel.” Then she continued with “There was…I don’t think I ever told you, in my dreams, I was chasing a little boy that I saw on Earth when we evacuated. He managed to make it to a shuttle and the Reapers vaporized it. I’d tried to help him but all he had to say was ‘you can’t help me’ and my nightmares just grabbed onto that phrase and rode me with it. When I reached the actual Catalyst, which was not the console but an entirely new section of the Crucible, I was greeted by the image of this little boy, presenting me with choices. I had three choices…”

She explained a bizarre set of circumstances and he wondered if she had hallucinated.

She said “I bet you think I hallucinated, but the results were the results. I couldn’t…I couldn’t control the Reapers. Not after what the Illusive Man had just done. Plus, it said I’d die and…I had…”

Garrus said slowly “You had another choice.” Hollow cold slid down his spine.

She nodded, sniffling and said “I couldn’t…synthesize. I probably should. I probably should, that’s what I keep thinking. If I’d chosen that…if…”

He said words, but he knew she’d thought them. “We’d all be something else, and you’d be dead. I wouldn’t be me anymore. We’d have had no choice, no free will.”

Morim’s voice was echoing with bleak horror. She said “It told me ‘It is inevitable that we reach synthesis.’ If anything that thing was convinced that evolution will bring us to synthesis. But I restarted the cycle. It promised that conflict would begin again. With the choice I made…”

He dragged air into his lungs and said “Listen, Morim. Look…I know I am biased. I am biased as hell. You’re alive and I am sorry for the losses of synthetic life…EDI and…oh fuck…”

She said hollowly “The Geth. We can’t talk to the Quarians, but I am certain…that the Geth are gone. Not just Legion, everything he worked for. All the people that died because they relied on technology. Me. I killed them. I don’t even know if Quarians made it at all. Or if Volus everywhere died because their suits stopped working.”

He grabbed at his first thought and said “Okay. Oh, Spirits. I understand. I get why you don’t want to tell anybody. You made the right choice.” She snorted and he said “No, listen. You made the right choice in not telling them and in what you did in the Crucible. You made me a promise. You kept it.”

She spoke slowly, tears choking her voice “Garrus, I’m not…I’m not sorry I’m alive. It sucked there for a good long while, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not…I couldn’t control them, I couldn’t synthesize. You know me…that if I’d had to make another choice, even one that cost my life, I would have, because I wouldn't have seen that I had a choice. I don't think I really had a choice. But the cost of that choice is one that other people had to and have to pay. Then on top of that I won’t tell them. Not out of fear, out of…fucking complication. It’s too much to ask people to believe or to think that a small human had all that power and made a choice that transformed the galaxy. It’s too much to ask that I walk by your side and make you the target of every single being that would have wanted me to make a different choice, or to be praised by people who agree with the choice I made. It would put the attention on me and all attention should be on rebuilding, on life. It’s…maybe EDI will come back, maybe the Geth will revive, maybe the Quarians will recover, maybe the Volus are fine, but I don’t know. I do know a lot of synthetics and organics died because of my choice. Even if it’s because a dead Reaper fell on them. What I do know is that I was, and am, willing to let them be the cost. I am not hiding from reality, I am coping. It's ugly, but I'm coping. For everyone else…I just want to be the ignorant, weak lady that pushed a button. The future can’t be about me. It can’t be about my choices. The future has to be about other people’s choices.”

Garrus sat still through the pain slicing through him “That’s why you don’t want tech in your body.”

She said severely “I am not going back to the Citadel. I don’t want it rebuilt. I want it blown from the sky and I know it won’t happen. The Keepers are gone so there’s some hope that it can’t be rebuilt. But whatever happens, there’s still tech there that will be studied. The relays will be rebuilt, everything will be regained, and it will…fucking…start…over. I have faith that we can learn, we can overcome, this memory will stay in people’s minds and conflict can be avoided, maybe synthesis reached spontaneously and peacefully, if we do it right. People will remember that when it came down to it, we all worked together. We won’t repeat this asshole cycle or come up with an equally fucked up solution. The Alliance knows what I know about Reapers. There’s enough information already out there to know historically what the Reapers did and why. But I’m not sure about the outcome. This was…actually a choice of hope. Not…forcing everything together out of fear of being apart. Not controlling something that was fucked up in its inception only to have it turn and bite my immortal, missing-you or even worse forgetting-you ass later. No. More. Reaper. Tech. It was all designed as an overly tempting and elegant trap. You get convenience and utility up front and then on the back end you're a slave or dead. This is the biggest hope I have ever had, and I will never see its full cost in the present or in the future. I believe in it. I believe in it wholeheartedly. But what if I have…”

He squeezed her shoulders and said “What if you have? It’s someone else’s problem. You’ve just saved my life and yours, and everyone else’s who is still alive. We were Reaper chow otherwise.”

She laughed and raised her bottle to him, took a long drink, made a face and said “Yup. You get it. You have a firm grasp on the issues.”

He tried to take it all in and said “I can’t decide if that’s the most selfish or the most selfless thing you’ve ever done.”

She laughed again bitterly and said “Yup. Probably never will. No way to know. We have what we have now. I will tell you…if you didn’t ask me to make you that promise, if I hadn’t had the thought that you were alive out there somewhere, and probably really mad at me…to hold onto…I would never have survived.”

He nuzzled her throat and said “Really? So I did something, huh?”

He turned to kiss him and said “You did something. We did something. I made you more than one promise, Venri. I told you my purpose was you and I won’t break that promise. I don’t want a command. I won’t take a command. The only thing I could do now on the Reaper subject is fuck things up by being forced to tell the truth or defend that truth. Then I’d give people ideas that would fester. It would be self-fulfilling prophecy, instead of others having new ideas that flourish. Yes, I have the arrogance to choose to overrule the judgment and warnings of a creature around for time I can’t comprehend. I choose to not believe that destruction is inevitable. Even if I would be the best commander ever and brought hamsters and joy to the galaxy, that’s not who I am now. I’m done. I’ve done enough and if I voluntarily put your life or mine in danger again, after all we’ve been through, I would never forgive myself. If you want something I can get for you, tell me now, before I toss all the power I have away with both hands. You can be whatever you want, just let me know what that is and I’m there for you. You want the Normandy? I’ll get her for you. Now we do what you say. I follow you around. I will not be a hero. I will not be a Siha. I will only be your Venri.”

He said in a low, warm voice “How the hell do you do that? You’ve lost a leg and I’m thinking you’re all vulnerable and you could still kick my ass.”

She lifted the bottle and said “Damned right. You sure you want my full attention?”

He groaned and said “Oh yeah. I think so. You drunk yet?”

She grinned and said “I promise I can’t walk a straight line.”

He stared at her for a moment and then barked a startled laugh, and her sly smile was a beautiful, if practiced, thing. Calculated to reassure him. Her answers echoed in his mind and he said “We’re here for a while, Venri. Fortunately there was enough of a Turian population on Earth and in London that new food is being grown and raised here, that will continue. I can live here. Palaven is far away and I…” He was sure she’d thought about it, and he wanted to know what she wanted as much as she wanted to know what he wanted. He sighed and said “I can’t ask you to live inside or always in a suit, at potential risk constantly from the sun on Palaven.”

She met his eyes and said “Yes, you could.”

He looked at her and lifted her chin to look at him and said “Yes. I could. But now you do what I say, so you tell me honestly how you feel about living in a suit. You just did it for months.”

She closed her eyes and revulsion swept over her features. She said “I reserve the right to change my mind later, but right now it is a visceral disgust. At least here on Earth I don’t feel the need to make a nest in a shuttle, although if you find me curled up in the bathtub sleeping do not panic. I still have a strong instinct to hide. It might leak out. I’ll have to get used to solid ground for a while. For now I don’t want to be at risk for decompression or have to live in a suit.”

His voice was rough and deep “But you’d do it for me?”

She said with conviction “I would do it for you.” Then she said more lightly “I want you to be happy.”

He shook his head and said “You will not sacrifice your own happiness for mine. I don’t want that. I will never want that.”

She quirked a smile and said “You might. I hear I’m a pain in the ass.” He looked at her, all that focus on him, humbled by it. She said lightly “Come on, you’ve done it for me, now it’s my turn to get ordered around and complain about it.”

He considered for a moment and then said “Okay. You should get an Omni Tool so I can talk to you when we’re separated.”

She smiled and held out her arm “Nail it in.”

He raised a brow plate “No argument?”

She shrugged and said “Talking to you is enough incentive. Just…not this one. A new one. I want to destroy this one, and you do your thing and make sure it can’t be monitored. You being happy about something shifts the math, you know. It’s a huge plus. I don’t want a biotic implant though, you okay with that?”

He said “I want you to be happy too. Without an implant it just means I can shove you against a wall any time and you can’t do anything about it.” He ran his hand over her thighs, curling a finger along the edge of her missing leg and said “You also need to get a seamless prosthetic that you won’t throw in the corner. Or I carry you everywhere. I know you’re a champion hopper…but I want to dance with you. You don’t need a constant reminder of the most pain you’ve ever been in. You don’t need a memorial. If you truly mean to put the past in the past and move forward to honor new ideas, you’ll do this for us.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together and said “All right.” She opened her eyes and they were clear and bright when she said “I want to dance with you, too.” She said tentatively, her face serious, her voice almost monotone. "I need …I know you're in charge and I trust you, but please…I can't have anybody in my head. Ever. I know I have to shut Liara out and it breaks my heart, but I can't go to an Asari for any assistance, ever again. If I'm incapacitated…I need you to…I'm sorry I'm a wreck, but I can't have anybody in my head with me unless it's you. I am promising to do my best to never, ever be incapacitated again. If I put myself in any new danger it will be because you say so. We will always be in danger from the situations I have already put us in and their consequences and it might happen."

He put his bottle on the floor, then picked hers out of her hands and put it down. Finally they could establish a space for just them, no intrusions. She was capable of bearing this burden alone, and left to her own choices she would have. She was choosing to share it with him because he had asked, because she had promised it, whatever the personal cost she had to bear. Her thoughts while being in the hospital alone had been of finding him. Her thoughts after he’d arrived had been trying to figure out how to make him happy and protect him. She’d give him the Normandy or any ship, get all of her abilities and strength back to follow him if that was what he wanted. Her struggle in the hospital had been about him and what he wanted or needed from her. His heart hammered with what she was offering.

With this information he realized with a chill in his gut and spine that she never would have made it off that station if she hadn’t had the hope of returning to him. She would have died to serve her grief, her pain, and to hide the truth, to give people a chance for a new future. Of course she would have made a choice that had involved her death if it felt necessary to her. Choosing to live was the harder path, and she did that only for him. If it would make him happy it would be worth it to her. She’d wear a suit, she’d pick up a gun, she’d go straight back into danger, though she despised the thought of those things. She meant it. She would do anything, be anyone, she was all in.

For him.

He told her solemnly “Then it's just us. I promise I won't ask for Asari intervention for your mental health. This means I have to shut out Liara also. Javik can't touch us. That part shouldn't be hard. We stay on Earth for now. We stay together. No jobs requiring separation from each other. No new danger. I won't ask that of you, I don't need that, I don't want that. You resign your commission. If travel opens to Palaven again and you wish to go, you tell me. Our family will understand if not and if travel is open they can come visit us here. You get a new leg. The best leg. An ostentatiously obnoxious leg. It will be very Shepard Clan. You get an Omni Tool and there’s a program I want to install that monitors your biometrics.”

She listened solemnly, he couldn’t read her expression other than attentive. Then she gaped at him at his last sentence, hit his shoulder, to which he obligingly fake-winced and she said with humor “Dammit, I knew it. Sometimes you just told me I was hungry or tired. You always showed up at exactly the right time. I thought you could smell it on me, but I could never figure out how you could smell it on me from two decks away in order to show up right on time!”

He grinned and said “It kept me from insanity when you were down with the Leviathan. Indulge me. You don’t want to wear suits, I don’t want to let you out of my sight without knowing what’s happening. We're both going to have to indulge each other's crazy. We've earned this crazy.”

She laughed and shook her head and said “You are such an asshole. Okay. Plan on letting me out of your sight often?”

He grinned at her and said “No. I have no idea if we’re still rich or if any of the currency we have still has any value, but we’ll find something to do to make money if not. In the meantime we’re not being charged for our keep. We’ve got a personal store of ore on board the Normandy and it can be used to make components that will be needed for rebuilding. We’ve got some bags of precious gems and metals within easy reach and if travel opens up we have fortunes scattered throughout the worlds. We’ll be fine, Venri. We’ll find our way.”

She smoothed a hand over the side of his face and said “I hope we hear from Palaven soon.”

He put his hand over hers and said “We will.” He leaned in and kissed her because he could, questions disappearing. He said “Mmm…anything else you want to know or you have to tell me that can’t wait?”

She said in a husky voice, her eyes closed and anticipation on her features “Just …why did you stop kissing me?”

He groaned and said “Good question.” He kissed her again, feeling her hands on his shoulders. She was still bruised, along with incisions from procedures. His hands were light on her skin, trying to learn her new form. She smelled different, but not dissonant, they were still so good together. He breathed in, brushing his mouth under her ear. Her physical vitality and resilience were faded. He felt an overarching protectiveness, the knowledge that he could finally shield her with his body. She'd opened her mind and heart to him and trusted him to guard them as well. That freely given right of dominion over her future without reservation clicked into place, not to be wrenched away when the next danger sent her running ahead, not looking back. Now that he could order her to do something, she’d already promised it. She wouldn’t leave him behind again.

He was gentle and patient, chasing the things he wanted and knew brought her pleasure with his hands and his mouth. He touched spots on her face he had dreamed of being able to touch again with reverence. The instinct of panic and pressure was ingrained in his muscles and he had to force himself to relax. He said in her ear "I couldn’t breathe while you were gone. It's going to take my body, my heart a little while to realize you're really here. I know you couldn't breathe without pain because your body was broken. I'm going to try to forgive myself for not being there for you. I'm here. My beautiful Venri, whose mind is swarming with the choices of history and the next 50,000 years, I know it's not that simple and you're not fine. You don't have to be. I will guard your body, your heart, your mind. One day we will both wake up and only see each other, not the shadows. Until that day I need you to see that with each living person you meet, you gave them their lives. We have our lives because of you. You can't only count costs. You have to count the potential outcome, which would have been nothing without you. What we have now is of infinite value compared to what we would have had. Please see that, for me. No more ruthless calculus."

She twisted to throw her arms around his cowl, wrapped her whole leg around him with the other pressed to his side and cried into his neck. He felt the huffs of her harsh breathing and the wracking of her sobs. She wanted forgiveness from people she couldn’t ask, for something she couldn't disclose. She’d be praised for the wrong things and each word would grind at her like sandpaper on her skin and glass in her heart. The worst damage would always be internal, and she’d hide that with her resourceful and practiced self denial, even and possibly especially from him.

Thank the Spirits he had a way to drive it from her mind even temporarily. Thank the Spirits he knew she wanted him, wanted that, wanted them.

When her tears slowed down and exhaustion sank in her shoulders he pulled her head back to look in her eyes. She was sad and desperate and in pain, and he was the best painkiller she knew. She’d gathered all her strength for this last and hopefully only telling of her truth. He wouldn't ask her to say it again. They would both guard that truth from others. The convincing, strong, informative energy she'd needed to tell him the whole story had left her and perhaps she couldn’t decide who to be right now. Circumstances had dictated her personality for so long, and she was suddenly released from imminent life and death choice. He’d just made sweeping choices for them and she did not know who or how to be under these circumstances. Yet. He had hopes she could adapt to love and peace. It would take time. Whatever she needed, whoever she needed to be, he would help her.

He wanted to see her eyes now and then watch as the pain drained from her, to be replaced with love, with bliss. He wanted to measure her progress in kisses and caresses. Her brows drew together in unmistakable helplessness and he answered with all the gentleness he could put into his eyes and his voice and his hands. He knew she was now entirely unaccustomed to Reverie, would likely start to twitch and shake and be gone from him if he were to touch her with the ferocity she’d always encouraged in him. The longer he could make her forget, the deeper he could influence her dreams, the better.

His eyes hooded and he said in a warm, deep, purposely seductive tone, no mistaking who he was in this moment “You are such a lightweight. You’re drunk. You are in so much trouble and this is going to be fun.” Her lips twitched and her eyes flashed with humor and possibly a fleeting regret for her lost strength, then remembering she’d done it on purpose. Complicated, her every thought was complicated. He’d take her thoughts away from her.

He needed to get Reverie humming through her system, so he held her face in his hands and kissed her. The state of her body reminded him of when he’d first been able to touch her and hold her in his arms. Bullets had ripped through her and given him her skin, her scent, her blood, his bond. She was battered and vulnerable and needing his restraint and vigilance every moment so she wouldn’t do herself harm. Not for the first time he wondered how adaptive bonding was moment by moment, because his accustomed violence was absent. He wanted her until he had to keep the trembles from his hands, but he was able to do it and feel a source of pleasure in power from that effort. There was satisfaction in control and not frustration with it. The taste and scent of her opening under his mouth made him more careful, more attentive to her every sigh and movement. His blood simmered with the rightness and with knowing what to do.

He thought about when she’d wondered if he’d be bored with her and he moved his mouth to her ear and said “Change your body, change your nature, change anything about yourself, Venri, I will find you. I will love you. I need you to have that Omni Tool because I need you to know…if you are ever lost, you call me, and I will come to you. I will always find you. I don’t care if it’s because you want something off a high shelf or you just wanted to see me, I will come to you. I am for you, Venri. You are my chosen purpose and all other purpose has no meaning unless it serves you.”

He pulled back to look at her, taking in her flushed face and the adoration in her eyes, the spark of her green fire spreading, fighting back the dark. She still loved him, still had the courage to reach for him.

He stood and carried her over to the bed. He set her on her leg with no apology or deference, only acceptance. He removed her clothes with patience, caressing revealed skin, taking in her new scars, her new form. She was deeply bruised from old wounds and new invasive procedures to fix her broken body. She stood still, tentative and very much like prey. Her aggression was gone. She didn’t reach for his clothes when he removed them himself. She watched him with questioning and haunt-hidden eyes. Maybe he’d impressed on her effectively that he wanted to take care of her and not have her take care of him. Maybe she had nothing to give other than uncertainty right now. It occurred to him that she might think she wasn’t beautiful anymore. Knowing her, she was making lists of things she needed to fix about herself. He was sure he couldn’t put his full weight on her body. Wouldn’t. He thought briefly that even eye contact might be too much for her, this feral creature straight from the wilds, shying from civilization and speech now that her planned words had run dry. She’d exhausted her store of bravado and he didn’t want to make her manufacture any for his benefit.

He reached for her slowly because she looked like she wanted to bolt, tension in her limbs and indecision in her eyes. He turned her so her back was to his chest and then he pulled her into the bed with him, until she was on his lap, facing away from him, parts of her upper spine against his sternum blade with her head on his shoulder. He pulled the covers around her shoulders until she was concealed and warm, no longer exposed to eyes and air and her fears of judgment or uncertainty. She was too tentative for sharp or deep words that might startle other words into the clearings of her overactive and weary mind. He purred for her, a comforting constant that only waned with his indrawn breath, then began again. After long minutes like this, the warmth and vibration and concealment saw the tension flow out of her. She slowly stretched and shifted, finding the spaces where contact was most comforting. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and exposed her throat to him, her eyes closed. He scratched along the ridge at his shoulder and painted her collarbone and side of the throat with what was meant for her, then touched his tongue and dragged his mouth plate points over her shoulder and her neck. She breathed in and her face transformed from tension to a face that conveyed satisfaction of need, like having a sip of water in the desert. But only a sip, her face etched from that reminder of belonging into a deeper need. Quick as the licking of fire along dry tinder she arched her head further, the curve of her neck and tensing of her body unmistakable.

She had always been good at giving signals. He had always been good at picking up on them.

His hands caressed her hips and her waist, avoiding bruises he’d memorized, but skipping over them with obvious care so she knew he would not forget where they were. He caught a wisp of a smile as acknowledgment on her face before his hands moved up to her breasts and she moaned, that lovely sound that accompanied her breath speeding up and causing his to do the same. His purr shifted over time to a low growl, and she pressed harder back against him.

I know I’ve asked for a lot, but thank you, Spirits, for every moment I have had with this woman.

He pressed her breasts into the palms of his hands, the feel of them after time apart impossibly soft to his atavistic Turian senses, so responsive to his touch that her nipples pulled taut and straining between his fingers. He kissed at her throat and collarbone and shoulder, drew deft circles in the dark with claws on her breasts, perfectly content in each moment, his growl a constant. Somewhere in the middle of there his mind decided it was time to remember if there was something he should be doing, some horror he had to handle, some reason why this wouldn’t last, and he kept that thought from his hands, but it deepened the knowledge that it would happen to her, also. Deep scars would twinge, deep wounds would make themselves known.

One hand slipped from her breast and scratched at the muscles in her stomach, traced along a curve from hip to waist, still avoiding any spots that might cause pain. She moved for the first time that wasn’t a tensing or a stretching and took his hand in hers, lifted her hips to spread her legs wider, and guided his hand down. He sheathed his claws and brushed his knuckles over the open heat of her, catching the moan she released into his mouth pressed at her throat.

He restlessly shifted her until his mouth could reach hers and opened her mouth under his, drinking in her moans, moving his hand to support the back of her neck while his fingers were long enough with talons to rest them on the front of her throat, measuring her breathing and soaking in the heat of her skin. She whimpered and tensed as he guided a finger into her, and he knew she arched deliberately into his talons, drawing two drops of blood on her throat. He dipped his head to lick at the gifts from her and withdrew his finger, twisting in again and finding her clit with his thumb. They’d been apart before, and he’d learned that the first time after being apart was fast and intense and the last thing he wanted to do was tease or deny her release. He bit at his tongue, groaning against her skin, his growl getting rougher, and set his teeth very lightly to her throat, feeling the twist and pant of her body and the clenching around his finger start in fast accelerations of pressure to temblors to that rhythmic, uncontrolled clenching, lightning and thunder.

He kissed and nuzzled at her throat through aftershocks and shifted again, until she was on her back and he was over her, holding his weight up with an arm. He bent to kiss her breasts, bent to kiss her lips, held her mouth under his as he lifted her hips with the other hand. He slid his cock into her slowly and growled into her mouth until he could feel her start to react to the inrush of unaccustomed Reverie, then he pulled back, tempering her body with his. He rocked with her, slow, with an easy control, tuned to her pace and her need. She felt need as clear as his own. Need etched in every sound and every turn and twist of her. Need in her eyes that sought his and gave in to the discipline he lent to being just enough, and not too much for her.

_One day you will laugh and it won’t be a shield or a distraction. It will be the laugh that comes from your heart and lights your eyes and I will be there to hear it, to see it. Maybe I will be lucky enough to be the one that brings it to your lips._

_I will have a lifetime of being with you, nights joined with you, the sound of your words and laughter carried through the muscles of your back pressed against my chest._

_Wherever we are together will be home, Venri._

He filled his eyes and his body with all the love and care he felt, reflecting the pleasure she gave to him back to her. When she was exhausted and sated, when her hands hadn’t the strength to cling to his shoulders anymore, when every line of her body had been transmuted from apprehension to mindless pleasure, he rolled to the side and pulled her against his chest. He pulled her hips tight to him until he was deep inside her to stay. He watched her eyes slip from his and close. He watched over his mate as she slept.


	34. Chapter 34

Shepard

She woke in his arms and he was watching her with solemn attention. She watched back. He had new scars on his face, both sides, new nicks in his plates and new depth in his eyes. She still wasn’t used to how he looked. She smiled. He was quiet and she adjusted slowly, morning checklist coming to mind. Nowhere to be, nobody to kill, nothing to endure.

Thank you, Spirits.

The combined blessings of being out of the hospital, being in her husband’s arms with Reverie lapping gently at her mind and sleeping without nightmares brought a swell of gratitude independent of all the tragedy. It rose like a balloon through her, untouched by the darkness, aspirational.

She didn’t need to be worried if he hadn’t slept, because there was nothing to be done today, and he could sleep when he chose. He only needed half the sleep she needed normally. He needed even less in proportion to her right now, since she was still beaten all to hell and needed rest to heal. He might have slept during the night. He never gave signs of being tired and she’d really only seen it unmistakably on Omega and after Mordin died. Even those times he’d fought off mercenaries and his mate successfully. By the time she could hear physical exhaustion in his voice, he was long gone. She knew he had never shown exhaustion or debility in front of her anyway. Too concerned about being classified as unfit for duty and forcing her to choose someone else to go on a mission. She was always ragged before he was under the same strain. Maybe he’d feel safer, able to express having limitations now. Maybe this was who he was and she was married to a superhero. Of course she was married to a superhero. She’d have to learn his more subtle signals, or maybe they just would never be in a situation where he would be exhausted again. She hoped for that. 

She knew Garrus was just as fucked up internally as she was. She and fate had worked that man over for years. Now it was time to make it up to him.

He’d watched over her. The grace of that protection made her hope that she truly would heal with his help. She needed him for that, and for so many other things that had become defined as living and not just surviving.

She moved her forehead to his crest and reached out one hand to twine with his. Her other hand moved to the back of his head and rested on the Kinril and his warm skin. She closed her eyes, hummed softly and then she sang to him. No words, no recognizable tune, just whatever notes wanted to come out to play, for no reason other than she knew he liked the sound of her voice. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Six months after the Crucible

Her silence was hard to keep regarding the Crucible when she saw off-base speculation, but she withdrew as much as possible from the discourse. She only stated that she hoped that other species had overcome their challenges as well as those on Earth had overcome them, working together.

He was here and they were together, and it would take a while for the poison to leach from their systems. There would be new poison, she knew. They knew nothing of other systems or who was still alive there. Until or unless the Sol relay was active and linked to other repaired relays, they wouldn’t hear from them. 

Primarch Victus was miraculously still alive. Many under his command had died, but there were now thousands of Turians in London, expats and recently stranded transplants. Victus had asked for Garrus’s invaluable help doing the job he’d been doing since her incarceration; coordination between Turian and human needs. Garrus was asked to help develop and maintain resources and productive purpose for the Turians on Earth, find other Turians stranded on Earth without assistance and help use his contacts within the Alliance to make sure Turian voices were heard and their needs addressed. Garrus was a hero three times over and was known for getting his way. Many of the stranded Turians had come in contact with him during his own time in the military or on Palaven or his time at the docks at the Citadel. He’d done a lot of favors for Turian soldiers. The Turians here were alive because he’d advised a full retreat and saved the ships and resources for the final push. Turians everywhere were alive because he’d opposed the Reapers early and loudly, risking his own life and that of his mate consistently for years. Turians knew he’d left a promising career and all associated status, bonded to a woman he’d loved and risked all status of bonding rights, and that woman had, with his help and support, saved them. She’d made clear she certainly couldn’t have done it without him. He’d believed in and was wise enough to see the path he needed to be on.

Garrus and Morim had claimed the apartment next door as an office. Due to Garrus’s security conditions, who they were and the extensive damage to other parts of the building, they were the only tenants. Garrus and Morim could have meetings and work there and not have their personal space invaded. Mostly Garrus worked. Morim had a desk but she didn’t use it except to sit when she went to go visit him.

Getting a work schedule off the ground took a little while longer than planned. The first day Garrus had scheduled to work, she’d walked over with him the whole ten yards and then left shortly after to let him focus and settle in.

About 45 minutes later he had slammed into the apartment, caught her by the waist and set about molesting the hell out of her on surfaces in the apartment not generally intended for sex. The short and rough unasked-for explanation was “Because I can” with his mouth at her throat and his hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back.

Yes. Yes he could.

There wasn’t much talking after that.

The rest was not short, but it was rough.

So no more work that day.

She could in part measure her progress at healing by his growing willingness to toss her around like the weak and boneless rag doll she was compared to him. He was still controlled, but he was more willing to use his strength without fear of breaking her. He’d determined exactly how much she could take with her new…well…old…body from Reverie to muscle strain to flexibility. She remembered his words about what he'd accomplished with his Reaper Task Force: "As much as I could get away with, and a little more." It was an excellent motto for him. 

As far as status went among Turians on Earth, Garrus was the pinnacle, surpassing the Primarch based on his experience and accomplishments. He knew humans well enough to have married one, according to him the best one. His presence cleared up a great deal of the Turian bullshit he’d always despised and now had the authority to end. He didn’t allow clan disputes that might have existed on Palaven, which was a feat that Victus himself couldn’t accomplish. Garrus would tour facilities and get out on the street and in the Turian enclave once a week, even made new friends, reconnected with old ones and brought some back to the apartment. He was always done with work on time and he never allowed any Turian business back over the threshold of their home unless it was a good story or unless she asked, which she did, often. Morim made new Turian friends and got free Turian cooking lessons watching groups put together dinner. She turned off her translator often and got lots of help learning how to speak the Turian language. He convinced the Turians to call him Shepard and credited all his actions to the legacy of Clan Shepard and his Avah.

He was genuinely happy, useful, fixing problems and sparking with ideas, which he cajoled or ruthlessly forged into policies. ‘You cooperate with Garrus and get a fair deal or he will go around or through you and cut you out of the deal.’ is how Victus had explained it to her. The only people that didn’t get along with him were the ones angling for an unfair deal in their favor, and they found themselves quickly plummeting in social status based on Garrus’s judgment. Individual Turians didn’t have enough power at hand to be able to afford being petty and playing political games.

Morim thought of Despoina and water still sluiced through her dreams, but the sense of Leviathan had faded and the idea of space travel to get there and what could go wrong made it prohibitively impossible to consider for now.

She didn’t want to travel, really, but this was still the baby steps phase. If and when travel was open to Palaven, she wanted to go. By that time she should be ready. Fortunately none of her aversions to technology or travel were truly pathologic. She wasn’t agoraphobic or prone to drama…but she wasn’t much for being far from her new adopted home or having distance between herself and her mate. 

Her instincts were not built for strolling casually down the…burned out street…holding her lover’s hand…when she was used to a rifle. She could not, would not, did not see the point to relaxing in public. She’d be too busy looking for sniper’s nests to notice cherry trees or whatever they had in London. Whatever they had in London it was impossible to miss the sight of Reaper mountains. Inside was fine. She didn’t feel safe without armor and she didn’t want to wear armor anymore, so inside it was. She still went with him, often to Turian homes or meetings or wherever it was he wanted to go. The sense of being vulnerable didn’t fade, but she became more accustomed to that level of vulnerability. Being with him made that possible. She went out on her own rarely but enough that it wasn’t something to comment upon. She visited the Normandy or anybody that had been on the Normandy, and they visited her.

She left many choices about their life together up to Garrus. She was honest and careful about stating her preferences. She wasn’t necessarily in the habit of even being honest with herself, so it was hard. Her own justification got in the way. She was used to sharp, fast, snap decisions, and honesty took longer. She learned she had time to answer questions with “I don’t know” and then think about it. Sometimes she surprised herself. She was slowly beginning to discern what it was she liked and what it was she needed. She liked ice cream. She needed Garrus. In comparison to that scale, other things fell into place over time. She didn’t like crowds. She did like some individuals. She needed silence. She needed his voice.

Her world had been small in the last several years, confined to the Normandy and to the Citadel apartment, then to the Citadel shuttle. Her senses of worry and panic had not settled down and without an infinite cost hanging on the other side of her choices, forcing her to choose quickly, it took up a lot more space in her head. Not always having to go to new places and meet new people was a luxury she was claiming for herself, and Garrus obliged. He had his own sense of not wanting her far. They’d taken to knocking on the shared wall between the apartment and the office to assure each other that all was well.

She thought of him standing with a smile while chewing someone out, mid diatribe, knocking on the wall casually and sitting back down. There was good sound proofing otherwise, so she had no idea if he did lots of yelling or just his usual quiet and effective threatening.

Internalized panic might get worse before it got better. She understood that. He understood that. Their confidence in each other’s continued existence was growing, but still unpredictably shaky.

Karin had removed her Omni Tool and put in a new one that had been worked over first by Traynor and Garrus.

Garrus had wiped the old one of functionality and they’d taken it out into a parking lot. She’d thrown it in the air and Garrus had shot it out of the sky, obliterated and good riddance.

She began using her new Omni Tool. Garrus had been right and her self-flagellating was not the wisest of choices. For a while she’d only had one active program on it, Garrus’s biometrics tracker. Otherwise she had ignored it. 

When she did open it she received messages from Garrus that he’d sent from the Normandy on his way back to Earth. They spoke of his hope and his love and his expectation of finding her. She answered them all now.

I am alive. You'd better be alive too. Aye, aye, Sir.

Everyone is alive, EDI is dormant. Where are you? I'm reading lovely messages. We'll get EDI back and tell her lots of bad jokes. We will probably have to listen to a few. Hopefully. Maybe get her better humor heuristics this time. 

The Normandy is space worthy again. We're coming to find you. Hint: Next door

I miss you, Venri. Seeing you in my dreams is not enough. I missed you with every breath, and now I don't have to.

We are approaching the Sol system, I will see you soon. I will see you at lunch.

She’d also gotten a brief message that made her even happier she’d activated it.

“Hey. You were right, there was a lot of good tech. See you around Ms. Gunn.”

Kasumi was okay. She’d show up at her own pace. 

She’d heard from people mostly when she’d been in the hospital, had gotten visits or messages from quite a few even before Garrus had made it back to Earth. Wrex, Samara, Zaeed, Grunt, Jacob and Miranda were all accounted for…but no Jack. It being Jack, and Jack not being big on correspondence or keeping up with news, she wasn’t at once worried. Now she was worried. She’d begun to seek out the technology to track her down. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Morim stuck to the apartment because she enjoyed the silence. The picture window had been left opaque. There was a screen embedded so they could display any scene they wanted. Any views of Palaven or Earth were ironic and dissonant, because everything was now Reaper scorched and looking at pictures only brought questions to the mind about the present decimation of points of interest. She occasionally ran a program of a view and sound of ocean depths when Garrus wasn’t home. It was hypnotic and relaxing and she could stare at it and let her thoughts roam the water.

It had taken Morim days of research through reports and after-action interviews, combing through data, looking for one foul-mouthed psychotic biotic. 

Jack had died defending her kids from an ambush by three Banshees. Flanked, Jack had done damage and drawn the attention of the Banshees onto herself, allowing the scattered troops and her kids to finish them off and survive. 

Morim called them kids because that’s how Jack saw them. They were soldiers now and deserved that respect, but in her heart…and in Jack’s…kids.

She had a new project. Jack Academy would be set up as a place for kids, any kid, to live and train in academics with a side program for biotics. There were a lot of orphans...but not as many as she had hoped. More implications of so many faceless dead buried in rubble. She’d asked Jack’s kids what they needed and she would build it for them.

That had been a bad day, when she’d found the news alone. She’d been in the apartment, since her work was not so much coordination of actual people that needed to be spoken to, but research. There had been so much in the way of loss and heroics and miscommunication that the kids, who had been working on rebuilding, had not been in touch. They knew of Commander Shepard, but their love for Jack hadn’t extended to knowing Morim would be there for them. She’d only been a passing face. Jack had been a constant for years of their lives.

Jack had saved David Archer’s life, and the juice-drinking Rodriguez. She’d saved all of them. Jack knew their names, and Morim would learn them.

She’d known she could call Garrus…he was right in the other room. She walked over and knocked on the wall, waited until he knocked back, and then she leaned her head against the wall and cried.

She heard “If I die, Shepard, I’m haunting you!” in Jack’s voice.

Please.

In the end she had spent a few days alone with the information, quietly or not so quietly grieving in his absence. She told Garrus that one of Jack’s kids had gotten in touch with her and let her know. Then she’d spontaneously confessed immediately after, admitted to lying and telling him that she’d found out, that nobody else had been looking, and that she was going to build a school.

She couldn’t explain and he didn’t ask her to explain. He’d held her and rocked her back and forth and she melted back into his protection, allowing a witness to the envenomed wound, allowing him to start drawing out the poison. He was silent as she considered why she felt this way about one person when she had no idea how many people she’d murdered with her choice. When had Jack died? Had Morim been limping toward controls? Shooting Anderson in weak-minded collapse? Stuttering over a projection of a long-dead child? If Morim had only gotten there a few minutes earlier…been stronger willed…would Jack still be alive? It was impossible to feel it all. It was impossible to even feel how she felt about this one death, except it made her want to lie and hide and she had done both.

It was about Jack and if anybody understood that you could be a person that had done bad things and still love and be loved fiercely, it was Jack.

She had replaced the holographic candle for Avah, and after Jack, she’d noticed Garrus had put another holographic candle down next to it. A candle the color of Jack’s eyes.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Liara and Javik were inseparable and they were collaborating on Prothean history and writing down what he remembered and what she wanted to know based on her research. She was done as a Shadow Broker and wished to be a historian. There was a lot of history to collect. 

Morim had resigned her commission, but not before having a conversation with Vega where she told him that if he wanted it, she’d put in her recommendation that he take over the Normandy. He could oversee her refit and maybe take her out to Hawaii and visit. He and Hackett had agreed. The crew stayed assigned to the Normandy intact in theory, but people were busy helping out with the rebuilding effort on the ground.

Tali and Joker had stayed mainly on the Normandy because EDI was still in the copilot’s seat and Tali had found purpose in trying to help EDI come back to life. Joker helped Tali navigate EDI’s codes and traps and didn’t want to miss anything. Not much call for piloting anything else. Cortez had that covered. Joker was taking his own prerogative for a loved one, she supported him. More importantly, so did James, and nobody did anything with the cockpit or EDI without Jeff’s approval and supervision.

Kaidan was a Spectre and so was Morim, but they were useless titles. There was no council. There were no council resources. They just let that hang without commenting on it and Kaidan re-upped with the Normandy. He’d make an excellent XO for James, and it was good there was no combat just yet because his biotics were nonexistent. At least he had a decent pistol? Kaidan had located his mother and moved her to London where they could spend more time together.

Morim’s biotics stayed low in intensity, but didn’t fade. They had some force and the unusual aspects of smoke and lightning. After she’d recovered they’d gotten stronger. They were still fun in bed, and useful if she forgot to switch on a light. That was the extent to which she wanted them to interfere with her life. She had every upgrade removed under Miranda’s supervision and advice and what remained was just human woman and some weird perks she’d picked up in her travels. That and a new, fancy leg she felt was likely worth London’s crown jewels. She felt less like an engineered, walking weapon. That combined with her sense of vulnerability on the streets was less frightening than comforting. She wasn’t afraid to die. She didn’t think Garrus would allow it. She had no real need to be badass every moment and several very good reasons to be nonthreatening and out of the spotlight. It made her feel better to know she wouldn’t allow herself to be pointed as a weapon at someone as a destructive force. She still worked out, was good at combat, still had her reflexes and her mind, but she wasn’t the primary source of danger in a room anymore. That was usually her bond mate. That suited her and made him happy, so it made her happy. She would gladly ask him to open jars for her for the rest of eternity. The satisfaction he got from protecting and helping her was something to treasure and encourage. It was a large part of his healing process, to see her getting better, to see that being with him was what she wanted from her days. They were both steadier.

Cortez, Joker, Ken, Gabby, Adams and Samantha all stayed on the Normandy crew. For now the plans were for scouting, heavy transport and rescue missions on Earth and within the Sol system when the Normandy was back up to speed.

Karin had transferred to the hospital. It was doubtful the Normandy would need a full time medical officer with the reality that most missions would be fetch and carry, and always easily diverted to a hospital. Preferably the one Karin was helping.

Morim was perfectly happy to stay at home and sleep, read, work on her plans for the Academy and try to avoid followup medical commitments…which never worked because Garrus had her calendar and made sure she kept every appointment. She finally had some time with no life or death choices to make, or even productive choices. She was practicing letting someone else handle it, and it had varying results from overwhelming guilt to gratitude to breezing through it easily, then being brought up short against the reality that she needed the time because emotional and physical vertigo were unpredictable.

Sometimes when she was alone she had to sit down wherever she was and hold very still until panic or crying stopped. It was practice in self care to not viciously kick herself internally and tell her to pipe the fuck down because important things needed to happen. Nothing more important than this needed to happen now and she had to endure it instead of avoiding it. Slow and steady practice with this was yielding results in longer periods between breakdowns. She also grew to know there truly was nothing she could do about what had happened and that all choices were done. She wasn’t in the middle of it anymore and she could just ride it out, let it pass. She imagined instead of standing in a swirling river and being swept away by it, the river was always there, she’d deal with it a bucket at a time. It was a lovely thought, it didn’t always work and she was still swept away, but not as often.

Her primary relationship was with her bond mate, and her secondary relationship was to a level of private grief that she felt she’d be able to excavate over time, and she’d have that time. He’d given her the time, which meant he was really the one allowing her to heal. That was how she’d justify not telling him every time she cried for no reason or spent a few hours under covers pretending to sleep.

Mostly she was able to appreciate the fizz in her blood with the knowledge that if Garrus wasn’t right there, right now, she knew where he was and he would be home soon and he would be happy. He’d always be there if she asked.

She never got the real hang of asking, but knowing she could made an immense difference in her attempts at recovery.

Seeing him happy made every moment in time worth her effort, and spending nights in his arms was the greatest reward she could have received. He loved her. He still loved her. It was a daily and nightly miracle.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Nine months after the Crucible.

She was no longer concerned that she would bore him. Without her input he had plenty to keep him busy, he reveled in the work and there was always the possibility of a long lunch together. Long evenings together were a constant, and impromptu vacation days declared at need or at random such as “It’s Raining Day” which got old in London and that’s why it was funny to “The Door Is All The Way Over There, I Can’t Reach It Day.”

There were no deep talon marks on her and fewer bites. Claws and teeth provided only pinpoint invasions, not deep. He drew blood, but much less, and nothing requiring slathering of Medigel as might have been the case previously. She didn’t heal as fast. She was on Earth and at risk of opportunistic infection since her skin no longer healed at an accelerated rate in clean, recycled ship air. She was pretty sure he’d discussed it with Karin. Care and feeding of his human, he’d done his research. He was forceful but it no longer bore a challenging edge. What was there to challenge? He won. As much as he’d self-deprecatingly said he wasn’t a good Turian, she thought of him as the best possible Turian. She’d meant it when she’d recommended he be Primarch. Palaven could not do better. Maybe he still would be when she got her shit together. Hopefully soon. She’d get patched up from her internal hemorrhaging, the relay to Palaven would open up, and he would be embraced by his home planet, instead of a human city. 

He finally knew what to expect from her and wasn’t driven crazy by having to create fourteen contingency plans to deal with her possible outcomes. If she said she would be there, she would be there. If she said she would follow him, she would follow him. If she said he was in charge, he was in charge. He was calm. He had a true, deeply felt easygoing sense of himself. 

If she’d shed her badassery he’d amplified his, his attention no longer on one big gun and trying to keep his wife alive. Now he watched over and was admired, even emulated by a community of Turians and he knew where his wife was at all times, and that she was safe. 

Rifle practice continued. 

She watched him run through timed simulation for a while before saying “Hey…I should ask. Do you miss my strength?” She was ambivalent about it, one of those things she was taking time to think about, among many. She had no context for needing strength except that he might think it was fun to spar or arm wrestle. That was the only pull in that direction and she wanted to know how hard she should feel it based on his feeling deprived.

His smile was playful and slightly smug as he put the rifle down. It made her think she wasn’t the only one who thought of the answers to questions before they came up. He’d thought she would ask him sooner or later.

He stepped close, doing that looming thing he did, a lazy, appreciative look in his eyes. His voice was warm and intimate, pitched for the distance and how close he was to her. He said “For that answer you have to ask the right question.” He lifted a hand to run it through her hair and then returned his eyes to hers. He said “The right question is why and when did I bond with you?”

Her lips twitched and she said “I was physically there for that, but I wasn’t mentally there for that. You’ll have to refresh my lack of memory.”

He tilted his head and said “That’s true. So I definitely know some things you don’t. Okay, let me set the scene. Rules are though that you have to be naked to hear a story.”

She laughed and said “What?”

He shrugged “Price of admission. You want to hear the story or not?”

She shrugged and crossed her arms and gripped the fabric. When she got it over her head and halfway down her arms he said “That’s a good start.” He held the shirt’s bunching fabric and twisted it down and around, pulled her back against his chest with her hands trapped, her shoulders pulled back and her hands and lower arms bound. Three quick slices and her bra was gone, breasts freed to the sound of a soft, satisfied growl. A few distinct tugs at her pants and she was lifted out of them by an arm around her waist and then she was set back down on her hybrid high-tech feet. He pulled down a little more on the shirt around her hands and her shoulders flexed and her breasts pushed out further.

He licked up the line of her spine on the back of her neck, pushing her head forward with his crest and said casually “Much better. Perfect story telling position.”

She started to laugh and he said in a mock-frustrated voice “Look do you want to hear this or not? I’ve got a rifle otherwise.”

She pressed her lips together and said quickly “No, no. No. I’m good. Go on.”

He said as if he were telling a conquest story to a bunch of adolescents, the same voice he’d used for his boasting contest with Vega “So there’s this girl. I meet her, she’s great, but she’s human, you know? What do I know about humans? Shanxi this, war that, humans are unpredictable and crazy, that’s what I know. An-ee-way…bad news, she’s a little crazy. A lot crazy. Can’t drive. It’s terrible, but I adapt. I fix the car. A lot. I ask her to kill someone. Someone who really deserved it. She’s okay about it, kinda yells at me, but…she’s human, what are you going to do? He’s dead. So yay. I pretend I’ve learned something.”

She giggled and he waited for the interruption to stop, leaning his mouth plates against her shoulder. He starts to laugh softly along with her when she can’t quite settle down for a while and goes off on new peals with him dramatically pretending to draw in deep breaths to start again and being exasperated at being interrupted.

When she finally gets herself under control his voice softens and he said “But…I like her. I like her a lot. As a colleague, as a commander. I tell her I’ve never met anybody like her and it is true. All my life I've been surrounded by strong people. I admire strength, but strength became a common expectation…she’s different. What’s different, I don’t know yet. She’s…well, she’s human. So I just fix the car and shoot things. She kicks ass, but everybody kicks ass. There's another female human, Ashley, stronger than she is. Ashley can wear the big girl armor. Heavy. Armor. Ashley can carry the big guns. Ashley says provocative things about kissing Turians. If I were into just strength, she'd have been my best bet. But this other woman… I don’t understand her, but I trust her and I would follow her anywhere. She takes me with her whenever she can. We become a team. She makes me feel valued and above all needed. I am definitely needed because she almost dies. A lot. So we kill a guy, you might have heard of him, Saren. Pain in the ass. There's a party. I go. When I get there I see a woman from the back. I think it’s just any human but she’s…my…human. I've gotten used to the whole human thing. I am clearly a deeply shallow person because I see my human in a very expensive holographic dress and I want to…"

The hand holding her shirt tightened and twisted and pulled her back more tightly against him. He stood up taller and her shoulders were pulled down his chest, her back arched. His other hand moved up to illustrate what he had wanted to do, traveling slowly along the curve of her hip and her waist. His hand moved to grip her waist and he flexed his fingers, exploring the texture and give of her skin. His head moved and his mandible brushed against her neck in exploratory flutters and pressed against her skin, moving rhythmically at the rate of her heartbeat. His tongue drew a long line along the curve of her throat, then along her shoulder, then back. Then he opened his mouth and set his teeth gently against the joining of her shoulder and neck while his hand moved up to cup her breast and explore her skin and curves and weight with his fingertips. He breathed in deeply and growled.

I love the way you tell stories. She thought it but didn't say it, the clamor of sensation tying her tongue except for the release of a soft moan. His hand stilled but remained on her breast and she whimpered.

Then he continued with his story, resuming his casual storytelling voice "It was the dress. Obviously it was the dress. Right? Or I'm just a pervert. Could be both. Can't decide and it doesn't matter because she is so stupid she doesn't notice when I tell her she's lovely. But now…I am thinking about her in different ways." He says confidentially "Turian. Kissing. Ways. Now…I don't even know what a kiss is at this point, but I want one. She kisses my crest and leaves a mark of lipstick I didn't want to remove. I know she didn’t kiss anybody else at the party. I was watching. She was…about as strong then as you are now, come to think of it. Just in case anybody was wondering."

The pressure on her arms lessened and he shifted forward at the waist until she was standing straight up and then bent forward with him along the angle of his body. His mouth came closer to her ear and then said "I came to realize she was beautiful. Beautiful to me. She was still a terrible driver. And a terrible, awful dancer. I mean, really bad. But she danced when I asked her to dance. She could have ignored me. She could have insulted me to protect herself and her own ego, but she didn't. She was all in, because I asked her. That was…I don't think I have the words for how that was. Transformative. She took an order. From me. When I say she was good for my ego, that is a tragic understatement. And then she got shot."

His hand holding her arms back dropped away and so did the fabric. He took one of her hands in his and brought it around to her shoulder. "Here." He placed her hand over the spot and then settled his hand over hers, twining their fingers. He moved both of their hands in the same way over the spot on her stomach where she'd been shot. "And here." He stood for a moment, his body tensing, fingers flexing on hers. He bent her forward more, with him arched over her, all encompassing, blocking light. He said "I was alone with her, and her injuries. She'd never needed me more. Her fluttering and failing heart was measured in weak pulse strokes under my fingers through the alarmingly thin skin on her wrist. She almost killed me with biotics in her sleep, but when I spoke to her, she listened. She didn't know who or where she was, but she knew who I was. I was…her…Turian. From that I got the idea to help calm her down by holding her, talking to her. My human would settle in my arms and sigh, snuggle closer and rest her palms on my plates. She’d struggle if I tried to leave her. I am telling you, grip like a drunken pyjack on her. Lots of fingers. Freaky. She would fight to stay with me. So I held her in my arms, for hours at a time, listening to her breathe easier when I was near, listening to her talk in her sleep, waking her from nightmares, feeling how she relaxed against me, seeing how she needed me and she knew it. So then I knew it. I was her Turian. I started calling her Venri before I knew I was doing it, but she didn't hear me. So I had this warm… soft… weak… helpless woman who needed me in my arms…and she smelled right. My hands on her body felt right. Her hands on my body felt right. She felt like home. I didn't care anymore about her being human except that I was grateful for that fact. She was my human. Better than all the others. That thing that made her different from other strong people was her hope. Every action she took was guided toward some greater hope. Hope I couldn’t see, but she did." He kissed at the back of her neck, nuzzled at her throat with the side of his face. He said “You chose to be weaker, for the same reason you chose to be stronger. Hope. I see a woman struggling against her own nature and instincts to do the right thing. To keep her word. To keep the peace. Against everything her ego would want to scream at her to do differently. You could have all the power and problems you could handle, be knee deep in blood and intrigue. You could be all important. You’ve chosen this path to serve the greatest hope you could honor. I see strength in that, and that thing that has always made you different burns brighter than it ever has. And I…” 

One of his hands freed his cock from his pants while the other hand guided her to turn around. She watched his face, tense and wanting, fierce power in his hands as he lifted her by the hips and entered her to mutual groans and keening. He kissed and nipped at her lips, trembling from the rush of Reverie through his body and the intensity of his words. Swirls of pleasure joined the warmth of what he’d told her, doubts and curiosity gone. He groaned against the skin of her throat and readjusted his arms into an embrace. He tilted his crest to her forehead and said in a passion-roughened voice “I get a warm… soft… weak… helpless…hopeful woman who needs me in my arms, and she fights to stay there.”

She tightened her arms around him and said with appropriate awe “I feel like I should clap. That was a good story. The best story.”

He kissed her and said against her mouth “Well…clapping is optional, but you should definitely use your hands.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

She had good days and bad days. 

She was on a jagged whiplash pattern of erratic travel through her cumulative experiences and consequences, determined to ride it out. Some hurdles she could clear without effort and some left her inconsolable.

Some of the obstacles were mountains with tops in the clouds and their roots in the sea. He knows she stares at them, trying to figure out how to navigate, climbing freehand up blind cliffs and falling back down, or metaphorically drowning.

She always gets back up and that’s what he measures and values. The time it takes for her to rebound is improving, with some outliers. He’s accustomed to periods of separation from him when her heart races, stress climbs and she doesn't eat or drink. She could be crying or staring at something without seeing it, inner turmoil taking up all her energy. He chooses not to respond unless she invites him in. None of these things are going to threaten her overall health, because he will be there soon to soothe her, hold her, feed her, love her. She has the right to her pain and single-minded method of processing. He comes when she calls, wishing she would call more often, but doesn’t come to her at every stumble. He will always be home on time if not early.

She has a tendency to minimize and justify her pain around him. She's so protective of him that her attention gets pulled onto his experience of her pain. He leaves it to her to decide when she needs him there, not wanting to distract her from her own experiences. He would compare it to her having night vision, rooting around in the dark. Once he is in her presence the lights go on and she sees only him. 

She tells him about her worries and her problems, with her humor and perspective and determination to fix them. She doesn't tell him about every iteration or recurrence of them.

She was struggling to continue to breathe, some breaths more painful than when she died in the cold, without oxygen. He wonders if she sometimes counts the breaths, just measuring a continued action over time as a win. He would stay with her every breath as he did when she was in the hospital, but he knows she needs time alone. He makes himself useful, finds satisfaction in his work. She doesn’t need to worry about him, but she still does. She can’t help it. Still, he gives her no reason to worry. His slow, methodical and organized way of living is possible now as it wasn’t on the Normandy without constant disruption of plan and intent. Here, he can make his plans and intentions real. Her plans involve dealing with the aftermath of what has already been made real.

He is in his element and she has to learn who she is in peacetime.

He had almost come home to her on the day she found out that Jack died. He’d heard a knock on the wall and after he’d answered she’d been in the red and been there for a long time. He was sure she was getting better, he’d graphed it. He’d watched her spiral down for a few days but hadn’t asked. He’d sat in the office and reminded himself intellectually of her human tendency toward isolation. It was so antithetical to Turian ideals of bonding that he had to repeatedly and consciously override his muscles, which were urging him to run to her. 

He reminded himself that was what he needed, not what she needed. 

He reminded himself that he would be able to distract and ease her mind later, that he would be able to get what he needed if he were patient.

He reminded himself he had no words for her that would help her accomplish what she wanted to accomplish, her need for self reliance. He wanted no part in her self reliance, but that was the point, wasn’t it? He had no part in it.

What exactly could he ask? “What’s wrong?”

She could open her arms and spin, indicating everything, in all directions.

She’d told him and his heart had broken for Jack, for Morim scratching out strained privacy in her own soul’s torture chambers, fully stocked with new fears and costs daily.

Just how much better was she expected to get from here? He didn’t know what to expect, but he did know that she was brave and he was fiercely proud of her. He'd dealt with her death with not so much bravery as self indulgence. She was putting her mind back together piece by piece rather than inflict her chaos on others. She had time to do that during the days to herself and she wasn’t getting worse, even if she wasn’t getting all that much better when she was on her own. 

She could do what she needed to do during the day. He had her at night. Every night. All night. His.

She always…always…has a good night. 

Her humor was lighter. Her eyes were lit. She was joyous and loving. He would never tire of hearing her voice, seeing her eyes when she welcomed him home. 

Hopes were reset at night, gains celebrated and losses dismissed as fleeting. Their hearts sped up and slowed down together. Inspiration was found. He could find some kinship with her need for privacy because he spent so much time with her while she was sleeping. He loved her quick wit and sharp eyes and the way she loved him, but he also craved those moments when she was silent and trusting in his arms, seeking him unconsciously. He’d speak to her, whispers he knew she couldn’t hear, but she could feel. The simple, basic act of watching over her, feeling the rise and fall of her breath during Reverie was satisfying to his soul. He looked forward daily to those hours spent whispering her name or that he loved her with each breath. He opened his heart and poured out words that stopped in his throat during the day, avoiding that much repetition as needy or trite. At night it was a rich lullaby that flowed like waves to the shore; rhythmic, never ending, each the same as the last.

Her nightmares are gone with him there. He takes greater private pride in the accomplishment of being her mate, of guarding her from harm with his body than he takes in anything else.

He has much to show for his work, she does not. He knows that’s how she sees it. She doesn’t see that his work was only possible because of hers. For whatever life was allowed him in its measure, he could spend every day working and never accomplish a fraction what she had managed in the most crucial minutes of her life. There is nothing she needs to do to prove herself to him. She wants to prove it to herself, that she can be whole. He appreciates that she wants to be whole, but he doesn’t care how broken she is, he wants to let her know she’s perfect.

Despite all the corrosion working its way through her system she is without reservation happy for his accomplishments. Her impatience and temper is only self directed, she has nothing but love and pride for him. She is the best possible herald of human-Turian relations working out well, and every Turian that he felt worthy of meeting her had left her presence a convert to her charm, humor and humility. She and Victus were friends and Victus was mildly star struck by that fact. 

She’s always charming and kind and genuine when there are strangers and friends and family. She knows who to be then. She knows who to be with him. It’s when she is alone that she struggles.

There was a trend of human-Turian dating in London. He’d been asked for a lot of advice. He usually responded with something like:

“Ask a lot of questions and don’t let them die. Dying is bad, something our cultures share.” 

“Show them how to dance.”

“Learn how to kiss.”

She had a good day when Tali had invited them to the Normandy. Tali and Joker were babbling excited about the progress they had made with EDI in simulations and they were going to download her to her platform. They considered it a birth. They wanted Garrus and Morim to be there. Tali had been working nonstop with EDI and coordinating with bringing the Normandy back up to working order. Tali had been over to visit often, but Garrus also saw a drawback to being happily and healthily bonded while Tali had no idea what had happened to her people or to Kal or to the migrant Fleet that hadn’t fully made the transition to Rannoch. Tali would never be gauche enough to be jealous, but the comparison weighed heavily on her shoulders and in her voice. She wanted to know happened when the Geth, who had taken over so many functions to help, had failed. Looking out or up from these concerns was understandably difficult. She channeled all her energy into the recovery as though she was keeping time against those working on the other side of the galaxy, and when she was done, they would be done.

After months of labor EDI was ready to be born again. They’d recovered a backup of EDI from her time on Luna. Not the most stable start point, but she’d be shackled and confined to her platform for anticipated growing pains. She’d have access to mirror images of data she’d stored and hopefully could help in the process of putting herself back together.

Tali and Jeff were vibrating with excitement. The process involved anticlimactically pushing a button. 

EDI sat quietly. No facial expression, just sound piped through her mouth.

Tali said “EDI, do you know where you are?”

EDI intoned “I am on the CIC of the Normandy SR-2. Would you care to hear the function of this location on the ship?”

Joker was clear headed enough not to expect anything from her other than diagnostics, but the sadness on his face was poignant while he said “Maybe later. Function right now is helping you get back your memories.”

EDI said “There is an executable regarding memory, I will activate.”

Tali grinned and said “She can read. That’s good for a newborn.” 

They sat in silence for a while, Joker saying after a few moments with an easy shrug “It’s a process. But we’ve got you talking, EDI.”

EDI said “Indeed. It appears I have talked quite a bit. And taken…real time imaging of my thought process.”

Tali said with enthusiasm “That started as a joke, but in fact the idea came in very handy.”

They left EDI to review her files and filed out into the main bay of the CIC, catching up. According to them everything was kicking ass and getting fixed on schedule.

When they were about to leave Morim had gone back to put her hand on EDI’s shoulder. Garrus could hear Morim say “We’ll see you soon, EDI. Hoping you can come over for a visit.”

EDI intoned “I do not know where, but I am encouraged to try new experiences. And old ones.”

Morim said “We love you, EDI. We love you now, who you are.”

EDI said softly “I do not know who they wish for me to be, Commander Shepard. I will study”

Morim had squeezed EDI’s hand but there had been no reaction. “That isn’t just an issue among synthetics, EDI. Please call me Morim.”

EDI agreed “I see. I shall, Commander Morim.”

Morim laughed and said “Just Morim.”

EDI nodded solemnly and said “Very well, Commander Just Morim.”

Joker said “I really can’t tell if she’s fucking with us subtly or not.”

Morim had laughed and said “Here's to hoping.”

He answered “Here’s to more hoping.”

Morim put her hand on EDI’s shoulder and said “EDI, please address me as Morim. Some of your information is out of date, I am no longer the commander of this vessel.”

Joker said “You’ll always be in charge of the Normandy.”

Garrus said with a snort “Tell James that.”

Tali said “Not me, but she could convince him.”

EDI said, cutting off Tali’s sentence “I understand that I attempted to kill you, Morim. There is a file named ‘Lunacy’ with the information. I believe I intended for that to be funny but…”

Morim said gently “It didn't take. You went on to do great things, and you saved all of our lives many times.”

EDI said quietly “I will remember.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There was a bad day when a vid of Morim’s nest in the shuttle on the Citadel was released.

Or a good day, it was hard to tell. 

He was inching slowly toward good with bad implications of him not being able to murder people at will, which he was starting to miss. Diplomacy did have its drawbacks. There were a few survivors that deserved a head shot. He certainly wanted the satisfaction of delivering it.

Diana was the only reporter with access to Morim, but the curiosity did not end there. Reclamation of the Citadel had continued and someone had either made or stolen vid footage and had released it with the speculation that this was where she’d been for months. It had been posted on the Extranet anonymously. 

She had asked for his support in this and he was grateful to be there, that she wasn’t hiding it.

He’d watched as Morim opened the vid file and saw the opening, the scene panning around the inside of the grim but poignantly organized and overstocked shuttle and then to an external view of the bay. Her face went gray and she leaped over the couch to make it to the bathroom, where she threw up.

She was still pretty fast. 

He got some ice in a wet cloth and some water, followed her in and offered them to her. She thanked him, held the cloth to her head for a moment, took a sip of water. When the color had returned to her face she stood and brushed her teeth.

She looked at his face reflected in the mirror and paused. He was leaning against the door frame, tense and angry on her behalf. Furious at the invasion of her privacy. Anxious about it reaching her here, in a place he wanted to be safe. He knew and she knew that vid would come up over and over in future years, as parts of documentaries and texts and speculation.

She said something garbled around her toothbrush and then rolled her eyes, took the toothbrush out of her mouth and said "I'm okay."

He raised a brow plate and said blandly "Oh. Obviously. I can see that."

She finished brushing her teeth, spit, rinsed and said "No…really, I'm okay. I just…I remember the smell, that's all. That was the throwing up part. The rest…"

Garrus said "I can find them and kill them, if that helps."

She laughed and said "Oh, you've got better things to do."

He replied flatly "No, really. This would make me happy."

She laughed, and it wasn't bitter. She said "I've had worse press. I am surprised it hit me that hard. But I'm not there. I'm not stuck in that shuttle. I'm here. It wasn't intended as an attack, it's just an ugly place and attached in my head to ugly memories that all jumped out at once. We're going to see those images a lot. I should get used to it."

He said "You shouldn’t have to get used to it."

She tilted her head and said "Yes, that's true, but I have to be realistic. Unless I'm going to withdraw entirely from the company of the sentient…which I'm not…I made a command decision there…totally on board with the sentient thing…this is what they do. This is part of the price of admission to the rest of my life with people. I could obsess about this. My mind has already decided that they’ll get epithelials and clone me, but we’ve already dealt with that once. I could freak out with the panic parts of my mind are churning out right now, but I won’t."

He lifted her chin and looked in her eyes. He believed her. Not just because she said so, but her readings were steady. He said with exasperation “You used to let me kill more people.”

She kissed him and said “We all have to make sacrifices, Garrus.”

He said “That’s what I’m saying. I could go cause other people to make sacrifices.”

She smiled and said “You know I’m right, you just don’t like it.”

He nodded “True. Plus your biometrics are fine.”

She snorted and said “I’m going to start masturbating at random times during the day just to screw with your readings.”

He closed his eyes and said in slow, exaggerated horror “Why would you say that? That’s…you’re evil.”

She shrugged and said “Who knows, I might have already started, just to fuck with them more.”   
He hung his head dramatically and she laughed and kissed him. “Samara’s helping me with meditation and biofeedback. It’s going to be fine.”

He said mournfully “I’m just grieving for all those meetings I’m going to run out of and the lame excuses I’m going to have to come up with.”

She said “You deserve it.”

He nodded and said “Yeah. I do. Hey. Tirkes opened a restaurant. Not public yet, just by invitation for a while. Human and Turian food. Want to go?”

She said “Sure, when?”

He shrugged “Now?”

She smiled and took his hand and said “Sure. Let’s go. Plus we could look on the bright side.”

He said cautiously “And that is?”

She waggled her brows and said “They didn’t find my leg.”

He winced and said “We’re going to dinner, stop being gross.” 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Meanwhile, on a data pad

Dear Ms. Gunn,

The Extranet is a much smaller place than it used to be. Seems someone decided to take some video and post it. Funny story. That video or any stills from that video just don’t exist anymore. Certain Omni Tools that had been recording or uploading or downloading or whatever…seem to have had hard restarts and connected bank balances greatly reduced.

Weird.

New or repeat infractions may require more creativity and I look forward to it.

You guys might get blamed for this. I figure you could handle it. Just smile and be assured that nobody will find any evidence of your involvement. 

This message disappearing in 3…2…1…

Shepard: I love her so much.

Garrus: Wish I could send that woman some flowers. I guess she can buy as many as she wants now.


	35. Chapter 35

Timeline: Fifteen months after the Crucible

Garrus

The Sol relay had been repaired, the rings retrieved and refitted. Due to unknown functionality on the other side of the relays, drones were sent through before personnel were sent through. Drones intended for Tuchanka and Thessia had failed, but would be retried once a week. Drones had gone through to Palaven’s system and to Rannoch.

Rebuilding was happening on Palaven and on Rannoch and information from the Turians and Quarians brought a massive inrush of excitement and hope. 

Tali had heard from Kal and she was going to head back to be with him. He’d been homesteading on Rannoch. She’d retake her official position as Admiral, return in command of her own ship, part of the Quarian fleet that had been stranded on Earth. She had promised to bring Legion back to Rannoch, Morim and Garrus had promised to visit. They would create a memorial to him.

EDI had progressed far enough on her own that Tali felt she could leave the rest to Joker. EDI wasn’t entirely back to herself, but she was walking, talking, making bad jokes, slowly assimilating and recovering herself. 

Kal had informed Tali that yes, the Geth had powered down and some ships had been lost, but Quarians had all been self-contained in their suits with mechanical backups active. That had saved their lives long enough to get back up and running quickly. Some of the Geth had been restarted and restoration was taking place. The Geth were restoring themselves much as EDI was. They’d relied on some of them that had been powered down entirely during the burst and were more easily restarted than others. Crops were growing.

Morim had been thrilled. Tali had been thrilled. Garrus had been thrilled to see them thrilled. 

It was possible to make direct jumps and to send communication. His father and Solona were alive, and on Palaven, aiding in the reconstruction. He hadn’t been able to speak to them directly, but he would be able to soon. They were out right now traveling, with spotty communication and most comm lines right now being used only for official business.

Thank you Spirits for witnessing my need. I will see them again.

Victus had asked for a meeting and Garrus had obliged. What surprised him was having Victus and Morim walk in together.

Morim had walked to Garrus, beaming. She’d been so happy since the relay had opened and good news had been coming in. She’d kissed him until she’d reluctantly pulled away. She didn’t sit at her desk; she sat facing him, next to Victus and across from him.

Victus and Morim had looked at each other and she’d gestured for Victus to proceed. Victus had said “Palaven is rebuilding and there are many of us who are anxious to return, including me. Some wish to remain here for now, people who have new families here, new lives. I’ve been speaking to Morim and she asked me to make you an offer.”

Garrus had looked at Morim with a raised brow, but she'd said nothing.

Victus continued “In consideration of the political state on Palaven at the moment through the conferences I have been able to have, Primarch Accalia is doing an exemplary job. I know her, I trust her, and I do not wish to disrupt her efforts through any level of power struggle. There is need for a rebuilding of the army’s structure, and I will happily be there for that. Once upon Palaven’s soil I will revert back to being General Victus. I am relieved, really. I do not wish to continue a political career if someone else has it well in hand. That said, I am in charge here until our remaining fleet returns to Palaven. The fleet will be returning in a few days. Enough ships are able to travel to transport all those who wish to go and it will be a short jump from one system to the other. We need to be prepared and bring whatever coordinated supplies are needed on the other side, begin to restore trade with Earth. A ship has been transferred to your personal ownership. She’s small, fast transport, just recently and extravagantly installed with a stealth system like the one on the Normandy.” He spared a smile for Morim and then looked back at Garrus. “I believe you know her former crew, she’s the Moonset.” Garrus nodded briefly. Stealth system? Victus continued “Small enough to be manned by two people, space for ten and generous cargo space. If you choose not to return to Palaven the ship will remain with you here so that you can return at any time without escort safely.”

Garrus looked at Morim, who was still smiling and her face was transformed with that expression. He had to smile himself. He looked back at Victus.

Victus continued “In coordination with Admiral Hackett and the new civilian government on Earth, as well as with Palaven’s new command structure, one of my last acts as Primarch here will be to offer you a position as Ambassador to Earth. Morim has been offered by Earth’s government the corresponding title, Ambassador to Palaven. In this I am certain there are no better candidates and Primarch Accalia is in agreement. The jobs can be done from Earth or Palaven, with communication now opened up.” His voice became softer and more personal and he said “I do hope that you accept and that you both return with us. Forgive this seeming conspiracy, Morim didn’t want to…” He looked at her and asked “What was it…get his hopes hot?”

She said “Didn’t want to get his hopes up. Now all our hopes are up.”

Victus smiled and said “Indeed they are. I’ll leave you discuss it. Please, Garrus, consider this offer. Let me know soon.”

Garrus stood and said “Thank you, Primarch Victus. It is a generous and kind offer and I will let you know once we have made a decision.”

Victus smiled and bowed and left. Once the door had closed, Morim had stepped around the desk and sat on his lap. His arms closed around her and questions and answers swirled through his head. She leaned in and kissed him, her hands on his throat, moving to his fringe and Kinril, warm and distracting. She moved her mouth to his ear and said “Say yes.”

He started to laugh and said “Wait. Wait. That is cheating. There needs to be a discussion.”

She nipped at the side of his throat and said “No, there doesn’t need to be a discussion. Say yes.”

He ran his hands through her hair and along the slender curve along the back of her neck. Was he really going to ask her questions now? With her going to so much trouble to surprise him, demanding an answer and interrupting him when he tried to insist? She was doing this for him. She wanted him to know she had no doubts worth mentioning and he should have no questions that would add up to a no.

Say yes.

He took her face between his hands, drank in the hope in her eyes and the smile on her face and said “Yes” and then kissed her until they were both breathless.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

There was a lot to do, but not too much. Everything would get done before they left in two days.

Her main concern was about bras, really. How many spares did she need for just the trip? It was easier on Earth. She might need to have consignments sent over. Her clothing was probably their greatest household expense. They could afford it, but it was a tad extravagant with other people possibly struggling for basics. Maybe she’d have to hire a full-time seamstress or seamstrer? Seamstrer? Tailor. Maybe she should just stop wearing them.

That being her biggest problem was very telling about how easy her life had been lately.

She’d donated her model ship collection, fish and Boo to the London Jack Academy. There were several more Academies under construction and even more planned. Other than the funding, the Academies didn’t need her day to day. Her training had not been in education or child care, though she was an enthusiastic amateur. She had needed them day to day. Seeing children had drawn her out of herself and brought to her the simple but profound pleasures of doing what she’d wanted to do when she’d joined the Alliance; provide people with food and water and shelter and love. The work during the day had helped repair her inner equilibrium, brought her into the present. The Academies would always have funding. She and Garrus were ridiculously wealthy by any standards, even having given away quite a bit of what they had for the rebuilding effort. There were also many donors for her project, which had quickly turned into projects around the world with generous funding. 

Kasumi tended to Robin Hood and piggy back on her causes, anonymous funds simply showing up. Kasumi never arrived in person, but she did keep in touch in her way. Kasumi had some rule system about what footage or interview about Morim could stay and what had to go. Diana’s interviews remained whole, but otherwise there was very little footage and fewer questions, asked more politely.

Morim held off on adoption and hadn’t discussed children with Garrus except in the most general terms. She was certain if she wanted 47 children, all Krogan, he would blanch a bit and then start researching cradles. He was a brave man. He wanted her to be happy and if children were part of that, he was there for that also. She believed he hadn’t thought about children for himself, at least not yet. Turian life spans were such that children weren’t usually considered until bonded and in the 50s or 60s. She’d hoped to return to Palaven and it would be unfair to transplant a human child there. She wasn’t sure at this point that she would adopt. Palaven had no orphans. If parents were lost, a child was not an orphan, but “clan gift.” All children of clan members were taken in and raised by extended family. To do otherwise was so deep of a disgrace that it never happened. Part of it historically came from the competitiveness between clans and the need for population growth. Being able to point to a neglected child in a rival clan would lead to that child’s welfare taken up by a tribunal system and possibly taken from home clan and given to the challenging clan who could promise resources for the child’s upbringing. Military service began at 15, children were valuable. The Tribunal challenge no longer happened, but the tradition was ingrained as part of clan power and pride. 

Shepard Clan may pass into history in a hundred years. That might be best. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put that burden on a child, Turian or human, and she didn’t know if biological children would become possible during her lifetime. If it did, she might rethink it. She’d definitely rethink it. Right now, though, she still felt the danger of being who she was, requiring heavy security for survival and a Turian bond mate to get restful sleep. She was well aware any child of theirs would be a target. A target of violence, a target of political intrigue, a pawn for access to power. Might as well paint a bullseye on their forehead at delivery. Before delivery. Maybe she should just add a bullseye to Shepard heraldry. Her sense of risk rose to alarming levels thinking of it, so she shelved the idea for now. There had been no…successful runs at her life, but Garrus’s concern with security was not misplaced. The threat wasn’t even primarily military. Certain people…too many people…had an unhealthy relationship with who they thought she should be. She was a magnet for all sorts of attention, positive and negative. She was now a celebrity and always would be. She’d given up on the idea of retiring from the public view, as it would be impossible. She was going to re-engage to create a positive force from that. Some of the misguided and frightening aspects of her celebrity were that some people wanted to give her the opportunity to rule them, wanted her to grant them her life essence in fairly horrible ways or let them kiss her feet. She suspected that last one might have only a thin layer of religion on it and more foot fetish, but disturbing all the same.

No thank you.

She was sure Garrus didn’t want to worry her, but she was too hyperaware of her environment for security to be entirely unobtrusive. She was sure there was heavy security and it had scrambled a few times in her periphery to protect her. She wasn’t going to ask. She was going to behave as though she had not noticed. She was sure it was necessary. It was something he’d set up and maintained when she’d first been at their apartment, and he’d just never told her about it. There were the times she’d seen the scramble, there were the times she heard it, and there had been gunfire.

Over a year had given her enough of a pattern to make her own judgments about security strength and patterns and teams. They were good, but they had to keep eyes on her and be close enough to intervene, so they had limitations in how hidden they could be. She had followed up with surreptitious pictures and facial recognition software. She could probably name at least 60% of the regulars by now. Some of them were cloaked so no luck there.

Security had not lessened over time; it had in fact gotten more intense and involved more agencies. She knew that originally there were people from the Normandy, but she also now suspected Alliance involvement and private security, possibly some from the reformed Earth government. There had been quite a few Turian faces added.

It took some work to not notice overtly, to not ask. This was one of those benign deceptions or non-disclosed things that Garrus watched over and she let him do it. She would, in fact, rather be shot than either notice the security or comment upon it.

For now she just watched and was effectively protected and behaved at ease and unobservant, because that’s what he wanted to give her and she didn’t want to disappoint him. It wasn’t his fault she was so observant. She didn’t have to flaunt it. He wanted to protect her without her participation or effort and she was going to make sure he got it.

Perhaps someday if security were lessened, she’d reconsider a child. For now, no way in hell.

There were an embarrassing number of children named Shepard if a male or Morim if a female, she was an honorary Godmother to many and had access to hundreds if not thousands of children she could visit and spoil and fuss over between these children and those enrolled in Academies. There were a few Turian children named Morim and a few named Garrus, but among the Earth-bound Turians there had been no pregnancies due to military service constraints. Turian gestation was two years. Yikes.

She’d become more gracious about praise, trying to serve the needs of the individual expressing their feelings about their own continued life. Naming a child after her was a big deal, one she honored. She’d keep it uncomplicated, accept thanks and spare a verbal thought for the other lost, ask about personal losses, redirect the conversation away from herself. Inside her head she’d tell Thane thank you, or Legion, or Mordin, or Ashley, or Jack, or any of the thousands of names she new now because of their absence. 

She was still getting to know herself, getting to know her husband, who they were in peacetime. She was going to be selfish for a little while or a long while, indulge in time spent alone with him. She enjoyed entire days off, vacations and no alarms. He’d said once that they might one day have a time when the biggest choice they had to make was what to have for lunch, and she couldn’t get enough of those days.

She would miss the people she’d met on Earth, but she was excited to go to Palaven, excited to see family, excited to see Garrus reconnect with his home the way she had with hers. He’d deferred his own needs or made them all about her for long enough and it was time for him to shine. Her own personal ambitions were to be clear enough to be a mirror so he could see how she saw him, and bright enough to prove to him she could light her own way. She’d been the moon to his sun for long enough. He should enjoy his life, unworried, his intellect focused on greater concerns than maintaining her existence. He’d had no choice but to orbit her choices for a while. She’d orbited him for motivation to live. She ideally wanted them both to produce their own light. Binary stars, orbiting each other for the sheer pleasure of it, sharing trails of fire, dancing. 

The issue of wearing an environment suit outside and being inside often was not a problem. It wasn’t a problem because this wasn’t for her, it was for Garrus. Staying on Earth and adopting family when they could return to Palaven and be among his already existing family was not a choice at all.

She’d chosen to live for him after the Crucible and that had kept her alive physically. That wasn’t fair to him, ultimately. He deserved a whole, happy woman. She needed to embrace living on her own terms, enjoy other things that didn’t always involve him. She didn’t know how much living she’d do without him, but she owed it to him to try the same way she owed it to him to not notice security. He was still her reason for breathing. He was home base. She’d become more willing to go further away from him, but ever aware of growing distance. Even traveling to the Normandy without him while he worked set a clock in her head…’I could be back to him in 45 minutes.’ She’d always carry grief and worry and pain, but they weren’t at risk of immediately crashing in on her and robbing her of breath and sense. She could see them coming now. She could choose when to engage with the world, when to withdraw. He wanted her to heal, therefore she would heal. From that she reaped the benefits of actually healing.

The Turian fleet was going to have a huge party the final night before leaving, and the crew of the Normandy was invited, she’d see everyone there.

The Quarian relay had been up first, then the Turian. Quarians and Turians were already in contact with each other and trade was taking place. The Quarians had been in luck if only because they’d done so much new infrastructure work and they had been low tech systems in order to be able to go ‘back to nature’ and live on Rannoch without assistance. Rannoch also hadn’t been decimated by Reaper forces and the Geth and Quarians had accomplished a lot of new networking before the Crucible had fired.

Palaven had its infrastructure decimated but enough population to pull together and get basic needs, start repairing. Since the majority of Turian society functioned under essentially martial law at all times, the population was more easily coordinated, less chaotic.

London had pulled herself back together and communication with the rest of Earth was re-established, satellite networks re-launched. Other than some crazies of the foot-kissing, Shepard-killing kind, people had pulled together. The largest Turian enclave on Earth had flourished and produced quite a few human-Turian pairs casually and a few bonded. Morim was now fluent in the Turian language, though she regretted not ever being able to get the nuances of the sub-harmonics. She’d put her hand on Garrus’s throat so many times as he’d demonstrated. She could hear it, she could feel it, she couldn’t do it. She just…liked hearing and feeling it from him.

 

She was much better at picking up expression, having had so many opportunities to read multiple Turian faces, particularly people not as stoic and guarded as Garrus. Turian faces didn’t have the micro expressions that human faces had, but she’d learned a lot about mandible expression. Garrus was still a flawless liar. Something she admired, knowing the effort it took. She couldn’t tell when he was lying, he couldn’t tell when she was lying. When he was open and relaxed, she could see so much more in his face, hear so much more in his voice.

It would have been possible to do that tropical retirement thing he’d discussed before the push to the Crucible, but she knew him too well for that. She was entirely capable of being useless for the rest of her days, but he didn’t work that way. She’d observed how he spent his spare time on the Normandy and now, compared to how she spent hers. She could spend a day or two doing absolutely nothing, reading a novel, something she wouldn’t remember the following week. Left to his own free time, he always drifted toward some sort of useful work. It hadn’t let up at all since the end of the war. He’d study or run drills or fix something or work or catch up on correspondence while she was dedicated to uselessness.

She’d come to the conclusion that he was happiest when he was of use, being of service. It was part of his inherent personality, part of the culture in which he’d been raised, part of military service and public service, part of his soul. He’d just about fixed her so he needed a new project. She didn’t plan on presenting him with any more reasons to have to tinker with her, so she’d gotten the idea of dual ambassadorship.

Pros were it was non-military, it was unique, prestigious and it would suit his need to be useful and suit her purpose of not falling back into solipsism like a Drell with a long-lost love.

This was work worth doing and worth doing together. It was work he’d been doing for years, work she’d seen him happy doing. She’d be involved enough in his work and he in hers to properly be informed about and appreciative of what he did. He would have prestige and status, and he would make a real difference. Though he never spoke of wanting those things, always leaving space for what it was she wanted, it was something she wanted him to have. She didn’t doubt he’d happily retire with her or do without useful work, but she wouldn’t ask it of him. While he was figuring her out, she was figuring him out. To have a truly happy Garrus, add one part Morim, one part expertise in a field, one part opportunity to express expertise and one part appreciation of expertise. 

One and two were always guaranteed. Three and four would take some effort on her part, effort she was thrilled to have the opportunity and resources to provide.

There were no real cons. Yeah, she had to work, but it would be work she was good at doing as well. She and Garrus had both gotten very, very good at diplomacy. With their connections, accomplishments and friends, there was no doubt they were qualified for the jobs.

Work was such a huge part of Garrus’s personality that she’d chosen to reflect that quality. She’d worked on the offer from Victus for months just in case things happened as they just did. She’d wanted the ship and job offer in place ahead of time in case of a sudden scramble to get back. She hadn’t discussed it with Garrus because…what if they never heard from Palaven? Her getting it on her own would assure him that she truly wanted it enough to go after it herself. She’d provided to have the Moonset installed with stealth technology with Tali’s and Hackett’s help. A huge extravagance, but with travel opening up, they would be watched and hunted. In transit would be the most vulnerable time, she wouldn’t allow anything to go wrong if she could help it. She found she could help it. Garrus would understand if she didn’t work and didn’t expect her to work…but…since he enjoyed work so much, part of him would likely always consider her partly broken if she didn’t. This would assure him that she was fine. 

Was she fine?

She likely wasn’t qualified to answer that. She was lucky, and blessed, and had regained the tools to appear fine. She knew her luck and her blessings and was so very grateful for her life and their continued survival and time to love. A motivation for war had burned in her for years, and that motivation was obsolete. The other motivation that had bloomed at the time was keeping Garrus safe and happy. 

Was anybody fine?

Was Garrus?

She wasn’t qualified to answer that either.

It was a bit of an irony that he always appeared fine no matter what was going on with him. It would be hypocritical for him to expect something different from her. In that way, as well as in others, they were well matched. They were both perfectly capable of functioning as long as it was physically possible. Crisis had become their day to day, there were advantages to that. Regardless of their inner state, they both continued to work toward a better future, and in that there was beauty. A lot got done on that basis. Given good work to do, the motivation to do it and the best company in which to do it, there wasn’t much more she was willing to ask for in a life going forward.

His presence made nightmares impossible to her extended relief and knowledge that she needed him to continue to breathe. It was the first time in her life that she had enough sleep for long enough, and no interruption from nightmares. She didn’t attempt naps. On the flip side of something as powerful as how much she loved him, there was always fear of losing him

They hadn’t had enough time together, possibly never would, for her to feel she’d had a ‘good life’ together in a sense of having it been enough. Yes, she was blessed and luckier than anybody she knew, present or past. That just made it of more value, more worth the fight. Of course it was a good life, what would be even better would be more time. She had quietly relieved that stress by promising herself she would choose to die of a broken heart. The idea of living without him was an unbearable one. She had no other purpose she wanted to fulfill. He was, finally, at great cost and sacrifice, her true and only chosen purpose. She had accepted needing him.

To be honest that might be something keeping her from motherhood. The fact that if he were gone she would be tied to living for a child when she would want to follow him. 

He loved her for her hope, and she did as much as she could to be hopeful, but she could only light the way so far. Did he deserve a woman who would live for herself, whole on her own? Possibly, ideally. He wasn’t going to get her, though. Check back in 20 years.

Right now she needed him and he craved that from her, and she would provide it because she had it as a natural resource, in abundance.

She was still too close to catastrophe and despair to dismiss their influence on her. She would be pulled out of the present by the horrors of the past or the fears of the future, but she was able now to re-center herself moment by moment, be there for him. She never fully reached peace from it unless it was in his arms.

She didn’t feel there was anything missing in her life and she was blessed with the ability to spend nights in his arms, hear his stories and see the pride he felt in what he did shine through. It was a constant miracle. 

Addiction to Garrus was not metaphoric. It was a real thing, roiling in her blood, as solid a need as thirst or hunger. She estimated from her past experience that deprivation wasn’t felt until about 29 hours had passed, the length of a Palaven day. Reverie itself had an afterglow of about 5 hours, making for easy mornings, and then a slow sobering from that point on. They were both agreed, neither wanted to go through being apart again. Any job requiring separation would be done by someone else. The longest they’d been apart since his return had been nine hours. She’d been on the Normandy and he’d been on tour of the Turian enclave and they’d missed lunch together. That was about as long as she was willing to go without him. Life goal.

A Turian physician here on Earth had informed Garrus that he produced bonding pheromones and chemistry at three times the level of a normal bond pairing. No explanation given as to why that would be the case. There just wasn’t that much information on the subject. Garrus had informed her of this and then said “It makes sense to me. This couldn’t possibly be normal. No bonded Turian pair would ever have gotten out of bed.”

She never had a chance against that. He overwhelmed her and she never got her balance. He changed so quickly, his scent, his moods, his methods, that she never got used to who he was day to day or hour by hour. He had become an unpredictable kaleidoscope of a person to her, dazzling and dynamic. Time together with no interruption had intensified how exquisitely tuned and reactive his body was to hers, deepening her sense of helplessness in his presence and even away from him, wanting to get back to him for another dose of helplessness.

Her best balance was when her arms were holding her up. That is who she was now.

She had difficulty with the philosophical side to this physiological phenomenon. Under Reverie every single thing that happened was exactly what she needed. She was convinced if he started reading her a manual about crop rotation she’d discover a deep inner need to know about it. It would be a spiritual revelation. She bet if he looked bored with her, she’d discover a long-buried internal craving to be neglected. Reverie sense was self explanatory. Everything under the influence was defined as perfection in that moment. 

From there it became more complicated. How reactive was day to day bonding? Was it dictating circumstances or being dictated? Was it his bond that drove his insight into her, or did the fact that she’d melt into a puddle no matter what he did...

Well, there was a differential in melt rate, no doubt, that he’d figured out, just as she’d noticed the things that make him happier than others.

It became a circular thought process. Reverie inspired her in mundane circumstances, but they didn’t stick to the mundane for their inspiration when out of the direct influence of Reverie. He wasn’t reading to her about crop rotation or looking bored. She was going to Palaven, obstacles transformed into nothing in her way. They had time together without Reverie where her mind worked with more clarity, but it was still always bent his way, wanting to know what would make him happy, wanting to be near him. 

She thought maybe she was just beginning to feel the real force of bonding, what it had felt like to him all along. Reverie granted them peace from striving for each other only when they were joined. It drove them both when they were temporarily separate people.

Human brains were odd things, bits and pieces of different eras of existence overlapping each other. She felt he cut to the most primal part of her brain, threw her back to when ancestors to humans had gone into heat. Through trial and error and her responses, she had no doubt his body had figured out how to unlock that part of the brain that she couldn’t unlock herself, something that hadn’t been unlocked in eons.

The dynamic of their relationship was difficult to determine so far as choice and bonding chemistry. She’d granted him all the power it was in her to grant, and felt a need that stripped her down to the most basic functions in her brain. Did she need that from him and was that why they ended up here, or was what she getting reverse-engineered into need chemically? Did he need that from her and is that why he got it? The things he went out into the world to bring back to her were things she wanted. She tried to do the same for him.

Damned if she knew the answers. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The party was HUGE.

Whatever had been here before had been destroyed. It was now a huge open field that had been cleared and replanted with landscaped ornamentals. It was a beautiful spot, adjacent to the Spaceport. There were still Reaper bodies strewn about, but they’d become much less menacing and much more…places for graffiti and selfies.

This particular site was slated for preservation of one of the fallen Reaper bodies, a memorial placed for those lost in the war, visible from landing sites.

There were tables and lights and food and music…lots of music, multiple bands. There was Turian percussion and human music, even some Asari.

The party was so big she and Garrus would need to use proximity alerts on Omni Tools to find anybody. She didn’t usually like crowds, but right about now she wanted to see as many people as she could, they were off tonight. The Moonset was berthed and primed, ready to go, they’d leave here and go directly to her and spend the rest of the time on the ship, getting up into orbit in accordance with a lengthy but tight schedule with the Palaven fleet. The Turian armada returning was formidable. They’d said goodbye to their apartment and offices, packing light in personal goods and high on things that Garrus felt their family would need.

Security was nowhere to be seen, likely dismissed. This party was Turian military and honorary invitees, including the Normandy crew. If anybody wanted to screw with Turian security on the night they were about to head home, good luck to them. She was going to be ostentatiously vulnerable. She was wearing a thin summer dress in shades of ombre coral and silver jewelry that coordinated with her locket. This was one of those no bra why bother outfits, assuming it would be sliced to bits later on. She was looking forward to it.

She was at the side of a large, casually dressed but prominently armed Turian who held her hand and smiled at her, but also watched the crowd intently at predictable intervals. 

They were surrounded by more armed Turians, all of whom were also watching protectively. 

She wanted to check in with everyone that she could check in with. Some people weren’t here and she’d said prior goodbyes, but really only a change in address where she could be reached. Samara was at an enclave of Asari somewhere in a mountain range for what she considered a long-needed retreat. She spoke of returning to Falere once the relay to Thessia opened up.

Zaeed was officially retired and she and Garrus had given him a goodbye vid call, and he’d had two bottles of very expensive alcohol delivered to the Moonset. “Hey, if you guys get in any trouble, don’t call me. I’ll be drunk or have a very bad hangover. I’d only make promises I wouldn’t be able to keep, then I’d sober up and I’d remember to tell you both to fuck off. Here’s to getting drunk. If you guys want to be big goddamned heroes, that’s on you.” He had been assured that heroics were over, and he’d been pleased. “Good. Only so much luck comes your way in a life. Grab yours and run.”

Jacob had successfully talked his wife out of naming their baby Shepard, but only part way. Barclay Shepard Taylor was doing fine and making mother and father crazy. Crazy happy, but also mostly crazy, sleep deprivation would be a main memory in the minds of his parents about his young life. They were helping to rebuild Alliance Command in Vancouver. When they’d informed him they were heading to Palaven he’d been happy for them. “Congratulations, Ambassador Shepard and Ambassador Shepard. I hope to see you both soon. So glad to hear the relay has opened up and your family is safe, Garrus. Good luck to the both of you, I know you’re going to kick diplomatic ass. I feel safer already.”

Miranda was also on the other side of the planet now, lending her expertise to helping Alliance soldiers that had lost limbs. She’d offered limb regrowth to Shepard, but it was a long process and Morim didn’t want to spend six months on that project. Maybe later. She was grateful Garrus hadn’t insisted, six months is a long time to be in a hospital bed. Again. Miranda was now in Australia helping soldiers reconnect with their own bodies. Miraculously. She got the same sort of funding that she’d had under Cerberus. She deserved it. They hadn’t been able to talk but Miranda had returned a recorded message. “Congratulations to you both, and to your family, Garrus. The techniques I’m using will also work on Turians, so be ready for a visit. I’ve had some interest from Turian hospitals. Good luck to you both, I will see you soon.” Oriana had been sent somewhere safe, Shepard was sure of it. She was also sure Miranda would never discuss her on an open channel. Morim wasn’t going to ask. Hopefully the right relay would open up or had already opened up somewhere and they were together.

Walking through the area, she’d stopped and gotten some fish and chips, he’d stopped and gotten some Kelitren, then explained why it was used for slang. Why it was used for slang for her.

He’d said “Yes, cheap, messy and easily discarded. Clearly describes you.”

She’d shrugged after nearly choking on laughter. She’d then said “Well, you do discard the wrapper. A lot.”

He’d smiled and slid a finger along the strap of her dress. “Yes, well. That part is true.” When they’d finished eating he’d lifted her in his arms and carried her over to some Turian dancing. Her dancing had gotten better and this one she actually knew. She knew the people in the band, they knew her, she knew a lot of people on the dance floor and met some new ones. This dance though, was just with Garrus. It was a Turian-human hybrid dance because through Turian politeness in the company of humans, men were permitted to ask, according to Earth custom. At least now with her leg she had an excuse for relatively sucking. She didn’t care though, and neither did Garrus, and they’d finished the song with her in his arms, forehead pressed to crest, panting and joyous.

She’d have lots of opportunities to ask on Palaven.

They’d worked their way to the group of the Normandy, who had set up at a few huge tables, interspersed with new friends. She knew they were getting close when she heard “Battlemaster!” and Grunt came loping up. He picked her up and spun her around, Garrus laughing. Grunt said “You’re tiny. I’ll never get over it. You’re tiny, Battlemaster.”

Garrus said “That’s Ambassador now.”

Grunt… well…grunted and said “Nah. Battlemaster. I’m not retiring.”

Morim said “No, you’re going to outlive us all and have soooo many breeding requests.”

Grunt put her down and thumped his chest and said “Yes! The Tuchanka relay needs to open SOON.”

Wrex came up beside Grunt and said “I’ve got a head start. Bakara is busy right now, I have no doubt.” He sounded…like Wrex. Confident and prideful.

Grunt said “Yeah, but I’ll be around longer, old timer. I’ll beat your record.”

Tali came up and hugged Garrus and Morim, and Ken, Gabby, Adams, Traynor, Cortez all cheered at their arrival, hugs and waves and greetings.

Joker and EDI were on the edge of a nearby dance floor, very slow dancing. Stilted on her part, but she could tell he couldn’t care less. They were finally getting their dances in. EDI was not fully herself, but she knew that she had been in love with Joker, and she was determined to fully be that person for him. That sounded like love to her. It looked like love to her and Joker knew it. EDI would crew with the Normandy from now on, go wherever he went. Their missions were strictly local. That might change with the opening of relays. The Normandy had been re-strung together with the help of Traynor and Tali, and EDI was no longer the driving force of the ship. She was in and of her platform, choosing to be more human. She was unshackled, unable to entirely recoup who she was, but having seen enough of her own history enough to know she was a part of this group, valued and loved.

Vega called them over and they moved to stand near him. He introduced a woman sitting next to him. Kiara was a lovely pilot from the ground forces, she’d been stationed in London when the Reapers hit. Vega had his arm slung around her shoulder and he didn’t offer a hug or a handshake. She seemed a little intimidated by the company she was in and definitely the company she was being introduced to, but Vega’s steady attitude and conversation put her at ease quickly. That, and Morim was sure the arm helped. Her shyness disappeared when they started trading stories about fire fights.

Dr. Chakwas told them that she was going to be attending cooperative Human-Turian workshops on Palaven often, as she’d learned while on the Normandy and on Earth lately to specialize in Turian medicine and had worked with a lovely physician, Dr. Alcinder. Who happened to be Turian and directly at Karin’s side all evening.

Liara and Javik were sitting at a side table more privately. Liara had been over to visit Morim often, more than anybody she’d seen the most of her. With a huge hug for both of them and a nod from Javik, they sat down and caught up, congratulations given and received. 

Kaidan arrived with drinks order for the table and sat next to Cortez. Morim smiled, thinking they’d be lovely together. They’d be the most polite couple in history, and very happy.

Tali was well on her way to getting drunk. She’d brought her own alcohol and induction ports. She was infectiously joyous, sharing pictures of the new home on Rannoch, Kal and land overlooking the sea.

Kenneth and Gabby were finishing each other’s sentences as usual and all Morim had to do was listen to them for a little while and invite them to visit on Palaven. Adams seemed to have gotten used to their banter, surfing the conversations and commenting only occasionally, but clearly entertained.

Traynor was on and off the dance floor enthusiastically, congratulations and hugs given to Morim and Garrus.

Everyone was invited to Palaven. 

She and Garrus hadn’t discussed returning to Earth and for now that likely wouldn’t happen. Definitely visits. Possibly vacations. To live here full time though, that would dilute the promise she’d made and the future she wanted to build for him, with him. 

It was a relatively casual evening, thankfully. Everybody here had said goodbye to each other, expecting to die at several points in their lives. This was merely a parting, not a crisis. People were moving on, moving in, meandering like a lazy river through their lives, not expecting to be too far away again. Not expecting to die with the next mission.

Garrus told her “They wanted to know if there was anything they could do for you to show you their appreciation.”

Morim said lightly “Hope you told them ‘nothing’ and that being alive covered it.”

He nodded and said “I tried. The Alliance is still going to build a statue of you…right over…there.” He turned her and pointed her toward the Reaper body, framed in his hands.

She groaned and he laughed and then said “These guys though, I just told them…alcohol and ice cream cake.”

She turned to kiss him, saying “You know me sooooo well.”

He smiled down into her eyes and said “I do. Plus the humans here also like alcohol and ice cream cake here, so it wasn’t a hard sell.”

There was cake, and toasts, and turning down Ryncol shots because she couldn’t keep up with Wrex anymore.

Wrex had laughed and roared, half drunk already “Yeah, well, if you faint, we know Garrus can carry you.”

Garrus had lifted a shot to her hopefully. She had carefully declined and he’d picked her up anyway. He’d decided it was time to go and they said goodbyes and she waved, taking hugs and shouts and promises to talk later, visit soon. He didn’t put her down throughout it, and it was the same feeling she’d had when he’d held her that way through well wishing at their wedding. About to start a new life, not to be separated.

He’d carried her back to the ship and she’d looped her arms around his neck, nuzzling there and kissing at his skin.

There was a package for them awaiting authorization on the Moonset. Kasumi had a crate of bras, underwear and dresses delivered with a note “Good thing I know your taste in underwear, Ms. Gunn. Consider yourself now belonging to the Crate Of The Month Club.”

Kasumi had excellent taste.

Garrus looked pleased but then confused. “How does she…”

Morim said “During the party on the Citadel at the apartment. She spent at least part of the night looking through my lingerie. Now I imagine she spends part of the day noticing my purchases.”

Garrus made a face and say “Well…that isn’t as bad as it could have been. Can’t argue with the results.”

She nodded and said “Technically it’s stalking, but I love her so much there’s no way I’m complaining. She’s given me my privacy back from the world at large, who cares if she invades it occasionally to send me presents I need and want.”

Garrus looked at some of the dresses and said “I think they’re really my presents.”

Garrus brought the crate in and stowed it in the cargo space, which was filled with tech components and luxury goods available from Earth and required on Palaven and enough weapons to fill an expensive armory. Garrus was building up a fine collection, and this time hadn’t been forced to abandon everything periodically.

They weren’t due to leave for another 7 hours, but she walked into the cockpit, opened the shields and looked up. Full moon, beautifully framed above them.

His hands settled on her shoulders lightly, his warm palms sliding up and down her arms, leaving goose bumps. He said softly “Moonlight. Your skin in moonlight…I’m beginning to regret not leaving that picture window open, holding you against it, my hands between you and the glass.”

His fingers traced the shadows of the muscles in her arms, the curve of her shoulders, talons along her silver-highlighted scars in the moonlight. He pulled her back against him and tilted his head over her shoulder, watching as his hands moved along the fabric over her hips and waist, bunching it and then smoothing it. His hands traveled to her breasts, creating shadows and new textures. He drew along the neckline with the tip of a talon, then pressed her breasts in and up until they were straining against the line of the fabric, creating deeper shadows. An approving purr grew in his chest, growing to a growl. He kissed at her throat, nipping at the skin there while his hands explored the light on her breasts. He said “I’m going to build a home on Palaven with at least one wall of shielded glass and I want to see you in the sunlight and Menae’s light and the light of Nanus. I want to smell the sunlight in your hair and taste the moonlight on your skin. Moonlight there is warmer, you’ll be drenched in gold instead of silver.”

She started to turn but he held her still. She tilted her head back and a little sound halfway between a whimper and a moan escaped her mouth. His low laughter set her knees trembling.   
His hands sliding over the fabric of her dress brushed over tight, sensitive nipples. He growled as he drank in the response of her body under his fingertips and mouth. He said “This is my last opportunity to lick the moonlight from your skin. Who knows when we will be back? We have hours…and the moon might set and then I can lick the darkness from your skin.” 

She tried to turn again, saying a plaintive “But I want to do something.”

He nuzzled and then licked at the lines of her neck. He held her upper arms, keeping her in place. He said “No. Sorry, but no. My ship, my rules. Ask me again after you lose your voice.”

It took her a moment of thinking because thinking was…really hard right now, and she just said “Hey…”

He chuckled against the back of her spine and soft trembles grew in her limbs. He said softly “Didn’t human ships at sea have…carvings, statues at the front of them? I studied a little human military history. What were they called?”

She searched for a word “Figureheads?”

He nodded, humming against her skin “Mmm…that. So this is a human tradition. A beautiful woman out in front, watching over the ship. Watching over her crew. We need to do this every time we decide to go somewhere.”

His hands were deliberate and maddening, whispering over her skin, warmth and texture but no pressure, no real friction and she wanted friction badly enough to dig her fingernails into her palms and bite at her lip.

She was not good at patience, not this kind of patience, and he knew it. He was going to catalogue her skin in moonlight for as long as he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing, anyway, that wouldn’t make him drag it out even longer for interrupting his plan. She should be used to his ability to turn her into a stuttering wreck in minutes, but there was always a flash of vulnerability to a depth she had trouble facing, as though she immediately forgot when she was out of his arms just exactly how crazy he could make her when the mood struck him.

She didn’t just feel that she wanted to turn and wrap her body around him until he was inside, she felt a sharp, biting hunger when that was denied, and he knew it.

He knows it because you do the same thing to him. You’ve done exactly the same thing to him. Over and over. And it was fun. 

That was just not comforting right now.

She felt the vertigo and rapid descent away from rational thought and the idea of deferring pleasure. Her mind couldn’t make sense of that right now, not when his voice was in her ear and his hands were on her body. She knew she’d love every moment he spent with her, and he’d never taunt or tease her in order to ultimately deny her…but he’d taunt and tease her for fun along the way. He would make her a moaning, begging knot of sensation and she’d feel every shred of control slip away from her. 

Complete loss of control without being able to regain it still and may always in his arms make her feel more helpless than she would ever be comfortable feeling. She’d done enough work on her own ego and vulnerability that she could do it…but she always wanted to reciprocate. It was simultaneously a right and a gift, something she couldn’t give to him anymore. No biotics. No strength. She’d always framed the question as something he wanted. To be uncomfortably honest, it was something she wanted. Enough to get implants? No. Enough to regret not being able to turn the physical tables on him? Oh yes. This was about her choices, not his. She could get implants at any time, she didn’t need to ask him if he’d welcome it. He loved her weak or strong, took advantage of either condition. She still struggled with loving herself when she was this weak, this vulnerable, this helpless.

They spoke Turian when they were alone together always now, her translator set to hear him without distortion. For a culture that didn’t write poetry their…his…endearments were solemn and loving, the depth of his intonations making translated English a thin substitute for his real voice.

The strain of holding still under his hands drove her nails deep enough into her palms to draw blood. He caught the scent immediately, drew in a deep breath, unfurled her fists in his hands and trilled in sympathy, gently chiding her “Careless gifts, Venri.” He turned her and licked at her palms, eyes glowing with reflected silvered blue. He held out his forearm and wrapped her hands around it, settling her nails into his skin. If her fingers dug in deep, he’d bleed. She flexed her hands, being able to touch him and press her palms to him a relief. He lifted her by the waist, and being pressed against him was a deeper relief, a tightly-held sigh released from her lips. He leaned her back against the shielded console of the ship, so she reclined at a 45 degree angle, her head tilted back to look at the moon. His forearm held her hands over her head and he began licking the moonlight from her skin. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, digging in her fingernails and gripping at his arm as his tongue traveled over her skin and over the fabric of her dress. She lifted her legs to try to wrap them around his waist, but he positioned her legs down until her heels were angled sideways through his spurs. She writhed and dug in her fingers and arched her feet as his mouth left warm, endless paths over her skin and dress, cooling as his tongue moved on. His hand rode the curve of her hip, flexing and keeping her from arching up to him.

She felt incandescent, living in her skin, anticipating the next moment and grieving the loss of the last. He bent his knee and leaned in, the plates of his thigh against the folds of the dress, her body catching his rhythm and more moans left like breathing. His hand left her waist and the restraint lifted and she moved her hips against his leg. He shifted his arm and his scent bloomed and his claws trailed the scent in tracks, points tracing over her skin while his mouth continued on its path. 

Here was where the conflict and the struggle lived, she wanted him inside, now, that part of her mind driving her body to strain to reach his mouth, to draw him out of his body until he was driving into her, seeking only that moment. She was straining and raw.

He didn’t particularly care if she saw herself as flawed and errant, undeserving of his overwhelming devotion. She saw herself as faded and having not earned her keep. He disagreed vehemently enough to create this dissonant image in herself as a person of less than average worth and utility, and he saw a goddess bathed in the light of moons.

Reverie would make that all fade and perfection would be achieved. It spared her the internal strain of self recriminations. There they could both be perfect. He was already perfect, she was not. That’s how she saw it anyway.

Times like this he would let her do nothing and her body and mind imploded from the effort of holding still. He sought thousands of building moments and asked her mind to lie quiet, accept every stroke and touch as a gift, as worship. She sought equality and he blew that all to hell. There would be no balance, no equality. He would show her over and over that he never agreed to seeing her the way she saw herself. 

This thing you do where you refuse to acknowledge you are larger than life. We know life, Morim. We know relative sizes.

The switch back to his language and culture had brought out what she’d so often admired in him, his relationship to his own truth. He’d had to live in her world for so long where everything was negotiable, truths especially. Her force of will no longer colored reality the way she wanted to see it and he no longer had to argue with her about it because someone was going to die otherwise. He had time and patience to wear down her sense of self and show her how he saw her.

The winds of her mind blew her in one direction and she set her sails and traveled, then he’d come to her and force the winds to blow the other way. He’d make the ship turn, make her travel back further than she’d come on her own steam toward him.

Figurehead.

Did something inside herself demand this from him, did bonding demand that he had to do this for her? 

She counted breaths until she could soak in the flawless rolling sensation that sang in her skin and her hands flexed on his forearm with less desperation. His hand traced and retraced the light on her skin, his mouth and tongue making cloth over skin wet, puffs of warm and cool air from his inhales and exhales. Texture from his hands changed from warm strokes and blunt edges of fingertips to sharp, cool trails from talons.

Her breathing matched his, her muscles and skin stripped of any purpose other than waiting for his hands to pass again. His hands teased at edges of fabric, brushing the skin of her breasts without cloth between them, then his hand moved again to her thighs and waist and his mouth was on her breasts, her spine arching like a bow. His hand slid between his thigh and her underwear, knuckles against the wet fabric. He added a soft purr to his breathing, pressing mouth plates to her breasts. He sliced fabric and kissed through the rents, his tongue tracing random jagged paths along the edge of the tears. The air was cool and her overheated and sensitive skin felt every passage of breeze, each shift of fabric and mouth and hands.

He mauled her clothing until it fell away in tatters and shreds, sliding off her body or brushed away in tickles and shivers. He leaned back and looked at her body, a fiercely possessive expression in his eyes when they met hers unmeasured moments later, provoking a dizzy flip of her stomach and another spear of vulnerability mixed with lust at the sight of him.

He lowered his body onto her, just a little weight on her, enough to press plates and sternum blade into her skin, into her breasts, her stomach. He kissed her, finally, finally kissed her, nipping at her lips and twining his tongue with hers until the familiar dizzy heat started pounding through her blood. His hand traced the softness on the inside of thigh, moving to tease and stroke, growling against her mouth. She could kiss him now, so her mouth was ravenous against his, and he absorbed the ferocity of her kiss, answering her frantic hunger with his own slow pace. He slid a finger inside her, his thumb moving with patient slowness, careful when she wanted rending, mindless oblivion. He held her body down with his own and the trickle of Reverie wasn’t enough, her control evaporated. 

She felt her skin light with patches of blue cloud and lightning, trembles and tension. She dug her fingernails in until she felt the blood and moved to let go, but he pressed her arms down with his until she was pinned down. She bit at him and he ignored that, doing exactly what he had been doing, his tongue and hands infuriatingly slow. She had a wisp of thinking “That was stupid” before she did it again, struggling against his arm and hand and trying to lift up, no actual plan, just impatience and frustration, hunger incarnate, the struggles of an addict. She tried to raise her knees, but he twisted his legs until her feet were trapped in the angles of his spurs.

She found voice long enough to say “I’m going to kill you and the Spirits will bless me for it.” Curses were lyrical in Turian. 

He laughed, but his hand didn’t still, and he said “Mmm. You can try, Bakan. Worth it. I’m not sure your feet are supposed to go that way. I can tie them instead. Your call. I’m kind of hoping for the tying, though. There are still…a few pieces of that dress that will work.”

Out of old habit of cursing him when she was frustrated she translated her wrath into Turian “May your plates wither and fall, Vakarian!” She hadn’t argued with him in forever, she hadn’t called him that in…he hadn’t called her Bakan in…

Long time.

He pulled his head back, and then he shook his head with mock sadness “Tying up it is, maybe a gag.” But his fingers didn’t stop and he nipped at her throat. She swallowed hard and then after a gasp of laughter she said “Please don’t make me apologize when I want to kill you. Please, please don’t make me call you Shepard. I am allowed to call you Vakarian, you never took that right away. This was negotiated before your father.” She gasped and arched once and said “I claim protection of Rinkan.”

He tilted his head and said “I don’t know, you’re kind of ruining this whole ‘I have my own ship’ thing I have going here.” 

It was very hard to choose between laughing and moaning, but moaning won as he leaned in and kissed the laughter off her lips, rebuilding the tension in her body and bringing her to a wrenching, blinding orgasm. He kissed her with his unchanged slow pace, his body pressing her down, immobile except for her mouth. He withdrew his hand and traced a finger up her body, drawing a wet line around a nipple and then palming her breast and growling against her mouth.

He nudged her nose with his affectionately and then brought his arm away from her hands. He took each of her hands in his in turn, licking at the blood there, then drew each of her fingers into his mouth with a soft growl, sucking at her fingertips. He brought his forearm to his mouth, licking a long line along his skin, watching her.

He gave a regretful sigh and said “Now I have to start over.” He returned to lazily kissing her skin.

She made a frustrated, strangled sound and stretched her arms to the side, flexing her fists and relaxing her muscles. She rested her hands on his shoulders and caught her breath at least partway, though she continued to pant through her nose. He said softly “Why don’t you call me Shepard?”

She hadn’t thought about it much because it seemed obvious to her. The name Shepard was too linked to her reputation, her persona, something she tried to shed but grew back like a snake skin. It was hard to think now, but an example flitted across her thoughts and with a slightly evil twist to her mind born of frustration she took on a breathy, husky quality to her voice, porn-worthy, and said “Mmm…yeah, Archangel, mmm…give me the BIG…GUN…” and dissolved into silent tremors, her body shaking from the effort of not laughing, and trembling from over-sensitized everything.

His head jerked up and he loomed over her, his hand covering her mouth and she started to laugh outright, then licked his palm.

He said “Okay. Okay, point made.” Then he started to laugh and braced his arms on either side of her waist. She saw his shoulders and chest heaving with laughter, his eyes lit with humor and love. He looked down at her when his laughter died down and said “You make me crazy.”

She raised a brow and said “I make you crazy? You drove me to stupid fighting, cursing and porn voice.”

He stood up and lifted her legs from his spurs, smoothed his hands down her thighs. Her synthetic leg had sensation the same as her organic leg and he always treated them as though they were indistinguishable. She was even ticklish under the knee and bottom of the foot of the new leg, as it mirrored the sensation of her other leg. He repeated “Yes. You make me crazy. I like to return the favor. How could you possibly wonder why I would enjoy making you crazy along with me?”

She shook her head with exasperation “Because I’m always already there.”

His voice was warm “Yeah…that just makes it better. It’s your body’s fault. The way you smell, the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you look after your body has come a few times. There are hours during the day when all I can do is want, and need, and then I can bring that out in you when I get you to myself. I can show you my mouth needs you, my hands need you, every sense I have strains to pick up the same need in you. I know you want me, Bakan, but to get to that point where every muscle, every breath, every sound you make means that I know if I set you loose, you would drive yourself down onto me, expressing that need with trembling force…there is no way you’re taking that from me. Ever.”

She felt too much at once at his words, abashed and ashamed and exalted and eased. She said softly “I’m sorry, I didn’t…humans don’t really notice that much of a change in…and I don’t have the senses to notice it…in you…does that happen to you? Do you change…? Shit, even if you do, I can’t tell. I’m human. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head lightly and then said “I have no idea if I do. I don’t think so. No orgasm. I’m a constant. You are not. Your body can do all sorts of things mine can’t. I’m just enjoying that fact. All I know is your body can sing.”

She bit her lip and closed her eyes and said quickly so she wouldn’t hedge “I’m sometimes afraid that bonding makes you…might force you to…oh damnation…that this is some level of service or…” She subsided into a pained groan because he was laughing so hard he couldn’t hear her.

Okay, well, that answered that. Despite the acute embarrassment, she started laughing along with him, if only because the tension in her was going to escape that way. She said a half hearted “Shut up” and that only made him laugh harder. Then she said loudly “Have you noticed you didn’t marry a Turian?”

He said just as loudly “Have you noticed you can speak Turian so you could ask questions?”

She thunked her head back and said “Damn it.”

He said “Have I been wrong? Are you in any…pain?”

She said “No, it’s not pain. There is a level of torture.”

He smiled and said “Yeah. I like that part too.”

She said “You’re a terrible person.”

He shrugged “Guilty. So are you.”

She bit her lip and said “Yeah, well, that’s true…but I worry…”

He said drily “I’m shocked.”

She continued “I WORRY…that this conversation you have with my body means you and my body know things I don’t, or my body is lying to you, or I am lying to myself, or even worse, is that I really, really, really want you to spend hours and hours and hours while I do absolutely nothing, soaking in pleasure like a sponge, making you work…”

He barked a laugh again and then said “No. Sorry. Continue. Worry. Serious worry.”

She sighed heavily and said “I hate you. I am going to kill you and the Spirits will bless me. When I can walk.” She looked at him and her heart melted. Hopeless. Helpless. “Stop being handsome and charming at me, it’s rude.”

He said solemnly “Okay. Let me see if I’ve got it now. You are worried…” He stopped to cough a short laugh but then wrapped a lock of her hair idly around a finger and said “Okay. More seriously, you are concerned that due to…cross-species considerations, I might be picking up certain chemical or physical signals that don’t match your image of yourself? Is that…what you’re thinking?”

She said “Okay, too much has happened and we haven’t talked about any of it, really. I’m not a biotic any more, Reverie doesn’t clear my system. Ever. I’m swamped. I’m not strong. You told me that’s okay, so that’s okay. BUT…I can’t…I don’t have the physical stamina, or the biotics to hold you down, or the…even the will. I swear, I will just dive on top of you. You touch me…and I melt. I melt into trembling, incoherent…”

His brow quirked and he said “You’re demonstrating that.”

She hit his shoulder and he grunted obligingly. She said “There’s this thing. Called heat…it’s a term of mating. When an animal goes into heat, a female will just stand there, trembling. Hamsters are pretty brutal about it. If a male goes near a female when she’s not in heat, she’ll rip him to shreds. But when she’s in heat she just…stands there…trembling and shaking and…augh. You hamstered me, I swear. I can’t…I’m in heat…all the time. ALL THE TIME. It doesn’t go away. It’s supposed to go…away…at some point. Heat is only periodic in mammals and now it’s forever in me. If my body is swapping secrets with you, this is what you have. I am never not thinking of you. You seem fine, the same, as I slowly descend into inarticulate and ineffectual lust. Did your bond bypass a few million years of evolution? And… AND… and… if you have… do you want it or do our bodies want it and do you have to…I’m so confused.”

He thought for a moment and said “If that is true, that is possibly the coolest thing I have ever heard.”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

He laughed and said “Five years, Bakan. Five years of bond to you, two years without you. Years of inescapable desire, no relief. As you know, I’m three times more bonded than your average Turian. What you don’t know is that other Turians, bonded to other humans here on Earth, don’t do the three times as much thing. They seem to be normal.” He continued to play with her hair, and dipped his head for more kisses to her skin, trails of his mouth.

She lifted her head and said “Why?”

He shrugged, talking in an entranced tone, calm, still fascinated by her, unwilling to stop touching or hold still. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it. We haven’t talked about it much, but I’ve thought about it. I don’t know what the real answer is, but the things that are different are that I bonded to you without you knowing it, and then you died. We never had sex. Most…well…I’d imagine all…sane…people…had sex and then bonded. That’s what normal Turians do, anyway. What I did…it isn’t done. Not just to a human, but bonding to a person without their consent. Everyone believes you consented to the bond, for me to have done otherwise, to have bonded to you while you were unconscious, un-consenting, unknowing is unthinkable. I’m not explaining that to a physician. For that to get out…impossible. I hadn’t thought it at the time, but what if it gave me an impossible advantage? I’m a bad Turian. It could be decided that I coerced you, you had no choice. I’m sure that would appeal to the Turian ego, bonding making me irresistible to you. I had no idea what would happen, I didn’t honestly think it would affect you because you were human. I expected it to only affect me. Even if I had known it would affect you, I don’t know if I would have changed my mind, I likely would have justified it somehow. I wasn’t even sure you were going to survive and I wanted…I wanted to have that level of dedication to you before you were gone. If you died I wanted to honor how I felt. If you lived I had every plan of carrying out a formal courtship on even footing. I knew you were the woman I wanted and I would not want another. Maybe all that time apart without sex…who knows? My experience from having a reasonably normal and active Turian sex drive and then the triple overdrive of this bond, my best guess is that after you were resurrected I was in hot pursuit. Biologically. It seemed my body was convinced I had you and then lost you, and I needed to get you back. I may always be that way. Too much stress, too much loss, too many separations, a gap between species and time to be leaped.”

He bent his head and kissed her, his hands on either side of her face. He said “You think I’m the same while you experience ‘inarticulate lust’ but I have been in inarticulate lust for so long I know no other way to exist. I developed discipline over years. When I see your pulse leap in your throat because I am near, it is confirmation that you feel something like it. Bonding to you means that you are my law, Bakan. When I have the patience…which is not often, because when I see you I want to do too much, too many things at once…I enjoy sharpening your need until I know it feels to you in that moment, the way I feel every moment. It isn’t work. It’s…” He thought for a moment, then licked a line along her shoulder to her ear and then said “Therapy.”

He lifted his head, smiled at her and said “I can hear Mordin’s words in my head. ‘Bonded male Turian behavior highly responsive to female needs.’ Biologically, what if that meant staying joined, safe from nightmares, safe physically, close to me? What if it means you really never had a choice? I bonded to you when you were at your most vulnerable. I’d better earn that every day, that choice. What if that is what made me have to restrain myself from running away with you to a cave? What if now that also means my body is striving to get you pregnant? I know, my body knows that you want children. Once I knew that, I could feel that working at me as well. Wanting to give you a child, feeling I have failed since I can’t do that for you. I can understand not knowing the difference between what your body wants and your mind wants. Having been on the others side of it, and if this bond has affected you the same way, I sympathize. I’m not…sorry…but I sympathize. I would have preferred to be not quite so insane on the subject, but it appears we may both have fewer choices than we thought. I’m grateful for the company. Tell me…what do…male animals in heat do?”

She said “Mostly what I have seen is as I’ve said…kind of brutal…stand there, hold still, bite, shove…” 

He looked at her and smiled. He drawled “You don’t say.”

Her head fell back and she said “Oh Spirits, I married a hamster.”

He laughed and stroked her cheekbone with a talon. He said “No, you married a Turian. That’s pretty standard Turian behavior. I married a human who may or may not have been encouraged to become a hamster through bonding chemistry. You have changed. Your scent, your personality, your job, your emotional state. Your body changed from biotic human to dead human to superhuman to Leviathan-enhanced superhuman to Leviathan-enhanced normal human. You’ve changed so often it’s hard to retrace what happened. The change always starts with you and then moves through me. I can feel it, and I’ve felt it get stronger and stronger over years. Yes, I enjoyed you being able to overpower me, but it always drove me to more competitively overpower you. I do not miss you kicking my ass. I am not nostalgic. I am happy if you are happy with who you are. I adjust. You also know you can kick my ass by simply asking. You don’t ask. You allow me to torture you. You’ve given it so fully you don’t consider using your tongue to ask me to stop, when you know I would immediately. Instead you use your tongue to beg for more. You have given me proof of your promise that your purpose is me. Now there is less drama, less worry, and I can protect you. Now I don’t have to escalate in dominance. I don’t need to feel that I won’t be enough to keep you from choosing to die. I don’t need to worry that you will die if I’m not there every moment. I feel as intensely for you, more intensely, but it can be focused with intimacy and not conflict. I can be at peace. I can’t separate out all the danger and fear that drove us to who we were then. I prefer now. You and I have wounds, some that may never heal, and some of mine have to do with the anxiety of not being enough for you, not being able to protect you. I will always know that you died and that I could not save you. Having you under my hands, knowing that you need me, I can find no greater peace out of Reverie. It is a balm for my conscious mind that it isn’t only Reverie, that I didn’t only offer you chemistry, and that you had a choice. It’s possible that with the change from you leading and being in danger every day, then me leading and you being safe, still, staying at home, what might be interpreted by both of us intellectually and biologically as nesting behavior…it may be that the secrets your body whispers and my response has hamstered you, that you are in heat, that our bodies strive to get you pregnant together.”

Thoughts were swirling and new information was still settling. She still had more questions than answers. She said quietly “I don’t know…if I want children.”

He smiled a little sadly, his mandible flaring wide and then pulling in close, disagreement like a shaking head for a human. He said solemnly “If I were human, you’d want children.”

Hearing that broke her heart. She quickly shook her head and said “No, well, yes, but no. For now…I am terrified of the idea. I’m jealous of time spent with you, I don’t have extra for a baby. I’m still… I’m frightened of having you taken from me. That still takes up so much space in my head. I’m frankly terrified at the idea that I might have to function if you were gone, a child to care for when I have nothing to give but grief. I’m horrified at the possibility of making a loved innocent a target of violence or abduction, putting you through that. I no longer want to live if you are gone. I’m done with that level of bravery. Nobody needs me other than you. I’m reluctant to reach toward other need yet. You are my purpose. Even if you were human, those things would be true. I know you would adopt a Krogan or a human or a Turian or a…a…Vorcha for me. I don’t know how you feel about children and with this conversation…I don’t even know if either of us have any say over what are bodies are trying to do. I have an implant preventing conception, it suppresses ovulation and periods, it’s active for five more years. I promise you…if you were human, I’d be just as frightened, just as jealous, unsure enough to say no…for now. It’s a terribly selfish thing to say, especially if you truly want children. You’ve never spoken of it, but right now, I want 20 years more to spend with you, just you. Turians usually don’t have children until then, right? I’ve done some of my own research. Garrus, I’m asking you now. What do you want?”

His head tilted as if trying to see if she were telling the truth, how much of his own truth to tell. He said “I suspect you and I have the same answer at this point. We are busy asking each other ‘what do you want?’ and we can’t decide until we know what the other wants, and that changes our opinion. We’re also notoriously good at not asking each other important questions. For example…where are we? In a ship you arranged to have put in my name, with a stealth drive no other ship has. Where are we going? To my home world, abandoning yours, without you even speaking of a plan to return. You made these plans quietly, secretly, to give me what you know I would want. I am not sorry I bonded to a hamster with this much influence and the power of charismatic speech. You are, by the way, going to continue to have at least two planets and one bond mate wrapped around your tiny, helpless, faintingly weak hamster finger. I am grateful you gave away Boo so I no longer have competition for your affection. Being married to you is still like being pulled into the gravity well of a singularity. If you ask me which direction do I wish to turn in that well…it is often irrelevant. It all comes down to which way do you wish to turn me? I understand, I truly understand why you did not include me in these plans. If I am right, you wanted to prove to me that you were all in, and you didn’t want me to argue with you about abandoning Earth. And you are…abandoning Earth, aren’t you? For me?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. If I want a family, and I do, I already have one. You will be embraced by a planet that needs you. You deserve to be needed. I will be with you, we will work together.”

He nodded and said “I understand, and I know it is a gift, freely given, and you expect nothing for yourself, and that is the only problem I have with this generous and understanding, perfect solution.”

She shook her head and said “I will have you. That’s all I want. I want you to be happy.”

He nuzzled the side of her throat and said “Then you understand my answer to ‘do you want children?’ and ‘what do you want?’ Those answers have everything to do with what you want. I would ask nothing for myself. I would have you. You would be happy. That…is what I want. If you do not want children, I do not want children for the reasons you gave. If you changed your mind in the next 30 seconds, my mind would be changed. Whatever you chose, adoption, research into carrying a child yourself, I would want that for you. I might want children for my own sake at some point, but I share your concerns, I share your jealousy. I…do not want to share you, not yet. I would, and if it brought you joy it would bring me joy. I am, however, still deeply selfish about time spent with you. I don’t know if that would ever ease, but a child you loved would be a child I loved. I can’t make these choices without knowing what you want. You are not good at wanting things for yourself. It makes it hard to get them for you. Other than destroying Reapers, which we have covered, having a child is the only wish you have ever expressed to me that I can’t get for you.”

She took his face between her hands and said “I could get a child for myself. You know I could. I haven’t. I could have adopted, I could still adopt. You can know, in your heart, that it is not anything between us that has stopped me from doing that. Forgive me if it sound weak, or needy or biologically…inconvenient, but I want you to myself. You wanted me to notice that every life that is still lived, I helped. I feel with that, with the Academies, that I have access to and a part in…the lives of so many children. Maybe that dream was because I couldn’t have it. Now I could. We could. Do I want to devote my energy to that right now? No. We have new jobs, a new home, two planets worth of challenges. We have a family to submerge ourselves in, to be a part of, already existing. Is it possibly because I’m so selfish that I don’t want to be pulled out of your arms at 3 a.m. for a feeding? Yes. Yes, it may be exactly that. It may be that I’m so incredibly jealous of my time with you that I won’t even allow a child with your blue eyes or with my red hair to take me from you, even temporarily. That might change. Part of me is trying to pace myself, too. We’ve got 98 years left, I shouldn’t blow everything all at once. I’m only one year into this peacetime marriage thing.”

He nodded and she thought he believed her, her heart unclenched. He said softly “So when I say that my mate does unexpected things to make me happy, things that cost her in ways I can’t fathom…I would like to know…how is it that when I want to do things to make you happy…torture that makes your body sing, why is it somehow a burden that I should not bear?”

She said slowly “Well…when you put it that way…”

He said “Considering that my wife engaged the confidence of not one, but two Primarchs, and made me an offer it was impossible to refuse without offending my current Primarch, my future Primarch and my wife…”

She smiled weakly.

He continued “I am aware that my wife is manipulative, a liar…” He looked at her closely and she kept her smile steady, barely. “And now she is a hamster. You…are stuck with me in biological overdrive. I like it. I don’t want to want you any less. I don’t want you to want me any less. I want to see you need, Venri. I want to see and feel and taste and hear your body straining for mine. Your response to that should be…Good. More. Yes. Please. Yes, perhaps I would have been an artist if you weren’t my mate. You should not mourn my lack of creativity left in a museum. You are my canvas. We’re headed into a life that you fine crafted with your tiny little manipulative, lying hands. A life that will encourage you to diplomatically lie and manipulate. If you know me well enough to know that I want that life together, then I know you well enough to know what you want. We are going to celebrate.”

She coughed and said softly “I do have to mention that it might run in the family, considering my husband has had security on me for over a year without asking me whether or not I wanted a detail following me 24 hours a day.”

He laughed and said “Yeah, I figured you knew. There’s no way gunfire doesn’t get your attention. Soooo many people want to kill or hurt you. It’s a constant. It will be easier on Palaven. Okay. So you’re lying and manipulative and I’m more than a little ruthless and domineering. I’m sure we’re both shocked to discover it.” He looked at her sternly and said “Thank you, for my future, for my family, for this life. I don’t know entirely what it cost you, but I know you would say nothing, you had no choice, you wanted this for me. That is why I did not ask. I understand why you did not ask me about this…but some day, some day, Bakan, you will ask me a question. Some day you will consult me before you dictate the terms of our lives together. Someday I’ll consult you about the lengths taken for your safety. Some day. It’s too late for today. Today we have to shut up and let it go.”

She nodded and said “All right. New life. New rules. I will ask more questions. I’m not sorry.”

He caressed her cheek with his huge hand and said “I’m not sorry too.” He kissed her a long, long time, until she was thoroughly dizzy and clutching at his shoulders. He sharpened the tight and aching hunger in her body with the same slow pace and patience, his hands and mouth lingering, loving and thorough. She got lost in the passing and returning hot and cold, tongue and scrape and point of his body. 

He pulled the strength and will from her until she was, as she often was, composed of need and please and his name. He fed her pleasure and frank, unapologetic worship and his own need, his strength the only strength permitted. 

Warm…soft…weak…helpless…

Her boxes and categories and compartments shattered and all that remained was her mate’s chosen purpose and dedication to her body and what secrets her body whispered to his, bypassing her knowledge entirely.

She let go, really let go of roles and expectations and modern civilized thoughts, balance and equality and lost herself in his hands and his mouth and the words she didn’t understand but she felt.

She closed her eyes and stayed that way, his body came to cover hers, press down on her and press inside. Her legs and arms wrapped around him and held to him, every moment precious. She began to experience faith as a thing as solid as her muscle and rushing like her blood, not a thought that passed.

He lifted and embraced her, whispered more words in his beautiful, warm voice.

The moon was long gone, forgotten as he lay beside her in the cabin of his ship together, his hands in her hair and his voice at her ear. She thought briefly that it had been entirely silly to try to imagine a life as dual stars, and forget about the inexorable gravity well that would guide their dance. They were both caught, unable to escape, but both equally determined that their will was what had allowed the gravity to build in the first place. A blessing of peace. Their personal small choices leading to the inescapable they’d both desired.

His words left few spaces, but she filled them with words of love, of surrender, of devotion, of dancing, in his language in her voice.


	36. Chapter 36

Timeline: Six months after arrival in Cipritine

Garrus

Diplomacy and politics between Earth and Palaven were not the ultimately inspiring and cooperative things they had been during the war. Now it seemed more like voracious entities arguing over how carcasses were to be divided. It was ugly, laborious and potentially dispiriting work. He and Morim were very good at it. It was up to them to inform potential deal makers that the carcasses were in fact living planets and that they were not spoils. Many of the new diplomats were raw and unpolished. Morim called them ‘nouveau douche.’ It had taken about half an hour of explanation regarding language and anatomy to explain that bit. He didn’t think it was worth it, she thought it was hilarious. His deadpan receipt of the information made it even funnier for her. Palaven had fared as Earth had, an approximate 40% survival rate. Some clans had been decimated. A great deal of leadership was lost. As was often the case in war, the young and the brave died early and the wily and manipulative lived through the ordeal. 

The comparisons of diplomacy to war had made Garrus realize that on his own he would have been one of the young and brave. He was counted among the wily and manipulative due to her efforts. He’d have likely died defending the Citadel had Morim not taken him up on his offer…he called it an offer, she’d often reminded him it had been phrased as an order…to go with her. 

He had even developed a backward appreciation of his time on Omega and how it had brought about the hardening of his tactics, the sharpening of his instincts and the up-close realization of what ‘no law’ meant to some people and the lengths to which they would go to profit from suffering.

He wondered if Morim occasionally found a backward appreciation of having been dead, but he didn’t ask. Maybe she had some answers others didn’t, fears that no longer concerned her. He focused on her being alive. She was happy. She was really happy, the small, tense lines in her face and the habitual strains and stress in her voice that he didn’t think she’d ever be able to hear or alter even if she’d know they were there, gone. He knew she’d taken up the mantle of her own happiness for him, and he knew he couldn’t have done that without her. He would carry her for eternity, but she wanted to walk. She walked on half-whole legs with joy.

Some of the personalities involved in their daily work made Udina look kindly. Although Garrus regretted not being able to shoot people outright, it was satisfying to ruin them through other means. They had other means in abundance. Liara had provided Garrus and Morim with informants and recruiters and knowledge of both from her time as Shadow Broker. Feron was now the Shadow Broker, and they had his help as well. The work was also satisfying in other ways as well, unexpected ways. A perfect head shot was a wonderful thing, but there was no story to it. Diplomacy had stories. When they ruined someone or elevated someone they knew exactly why. It suited his sense of justice. Building schools, feeding people, reuniting families, these things had a satisfaction to them that head shots did not provide. 

Their weapons were now up-front diplomacy and charm, but backed up with the real diplomatic tools used throughout history, back room deals and insider information. It was very dangerous, even considering their jobs had been dangerous for years. This had the insidious potential that indoctrination had held. Garrus saw all too easily how people were manipulated, turned and used. Security was a major concern. As they went out of their way to rob the greedy and spiteful of power, the greedy and spiteful did as they always did and attacked instead of cutting losses. Garrus was able to draw from the best of the military and clan to form his own security teams. Kasumi was also invaluable in feeding them information regarding individuals and communications that Garrus and Morim themselves may not be able to access directly otherwise. With the combined efforts of Kasumi, Feron, the Alliance military and the Primarch’s access to intel, nobody made it into their presence as a guest or support personnel without passing security quadruple checked by Garrus. 

If Morim had been a beautiful and terrible thing to watch during battle, watching her at work with diplomacy was the same sort of experience. Instead of ending lives she was making or breaking reputations and deals, playing with the fates of clans and nations and worlds. Sometimes lives still ended, suicides and murders and death through underestimating security were possible outcomes. 

Their days were taken up with conferences, their evenings taken up with dinners and dances and events. There was a dinner and dance this evening for heads of state. Morim’s dancing was now impeccable with all of the practice, and he’d learned more human dances. The evening had proceeded well until one of their least appreciated job hazards in the form of Ventrallin Kaspis had presented himself. He was the son of an influential Avah and he fancied himself powerful, but the most he really could aspire to was being obnoxious. He had the calculated bad taste to ask Morim to dance to Turian music. Ventrallin being Turian and male, and Morim being bonded to a Turian male, it was insulting according to Turian custom. Morim, however, chose not to be insulted, and accepted the invitation.

Garrus had chosen not to be insulted along with her, as that was what diplomats did. Knowing Ventrallin, Garrus appreciated the notification to his visor when Morim opened an audio and video channel to their dance and conversation.

He almost felt sorry for Ventrallin. This would not go well for him. Morim wouldn’t notify him if they were about to discuss card games.

Ventrallin had begun by effusively attempting to snow her, saying “Ambassador Shepard, you are lovely this evening, as you are every evening. I’m certain you couldn’t find someone more appreciative than I.”

Garrus couldn’t see Morim’s face, but at events like this she was always on stage, her facial expressions tuned to each moment. He imagined…neutral, receptive and slightly indulgent right now, matching her voice. She’d responded “My thanks, Ventrallin. I’m certain I do not need to search for someone, we are wise enough to know the answer to that question.”

Ventrallin had paused, sorting through that one, and Garrus had suppressed a smile. Garrus was able to listen to the conversation he was in and the conversation he was monitoring, as presently all that he was required to do was to look attentive. Garrus was listening to a particularly boring diatribe on trade customs from a querulous and opinionated human male of advancing years and declining fortune, and all he had to do was look concerned and nod solemnly occasionally during any pause. This conversation had no bearing on anything in particular, unlike Morim’s.

Ventrallin had continued “I’m merely brushing up on my human customs. It is acceptable for a human male to ask a human female to dance. Since I wish to take up residence on Earth, it is best that I learn the customs there, human females being fascinating.”

Morim’s voice reflected amusement, but it was not friendly “As you are Turian and in Cipritine, it would seem you wish to insult your heritage in order to flatter another heritage that better suits your current needs. I have certainly thought about what you requested in our previous meetings.”

Ventrallin pouted somewhat, and said “But that is business. This is pleasure.”

She responded “Oh, is it? It appears that someone has been buying up land, somewhat anonymously and somewhat less anonymously. Someone that looks like you.”

Ventrallin’s complimentary tone faded from his voice “That is entirely my business, that is what I do.”

She sounded sage “Of course it is. Speculation. What I should tell you is that it also appears that this anonymous land has all been geared toward controlling water rights. Had you succeeded in your speculation, you might have cut off water to adjacent farming ventures and living communities.”

Ventrallin nearly tripped and his voice had flattened with alarm “Had I succeeded?”

Morim said informatively “Yes, of course, had you succeeded. Of course, with Earth’s recovery paramount to my job and that of my bond mate…you are aware I have a bond mate? One who might be insulted by you asking me to dance? Were he not kindness incarnate otherwise?”

Garrus almost barked a laugh but he turned his involuntary twitch into an unnoticed nod and a prompting “Mm hm” to his oblivious conversation partner. Garrus would dearly love to add a few holes to Ventrallin, but this was better.

Ventrallin’s jaw worked and mild panic lit his eyes. “I of course meant no insult.”

Morim laughed lightly and said “Of course you meant every insult. You will find that it would perhaps be best to leave Cipritine and abandon your land grab on Earth. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending upon your point of view, the land you acquired is otherwise useless for your intended purpose without a very few pieces of land that are no longer available for purchase.”

Ventrallin’s eyes went hard and he said “I have had deals for that land hanging for months now.”

Morim tsked softly and said “Yes, I know. That is a shame that you were led to believe that some pieces of land would be available. Just long enough to allow you to buy others at inflated prices. It does seem unfair.”

Ventrallin hissed spitefully “My clan will…”

Morim’s voice was soft, but bright and cheerful, pitched to attract no attention to its content from other dancers “Your clan will blame you for the loss of a great deal of money on now undeveloped and undevelopable land that was at best attempted extortion and now at worst a tax liability. You could certainly try to sell it at a loss. Having spoken to your Avah, she and I are in agreement that it is best that you go to your clan outpost on Kefit. I believe there is a vermin issue there that you can address. If you sign the land over to her, a buyer for a better deal than you will be able to get will present themselves to her.”

Ventrallin fumed and Garrus was entirely pleased with himself and his bond mate. This was fun. There was no way this wasn’t fun.

The panic in Ventrallin’s eyes remained but he hissed in a defiant tone “This isn’t over.” He lost the urge to shoot Ventrallin and gained an urge to tear him apart with his talons for threatening her. Diplomats didn’t do that either, and that was a shame.

Morim said calmly “You asked for this dance, and it is indeed over. If in the future you wish to step onto the floor again, do be sure you know the music and your intended partner. I enjoyed it. If you did not, perhaps you should not repeat it.”

Morim cut the feed and walked to Garrus’s side, and he excused himself to speak to her. She linked an arm through his and they walked to a window, having found that presenting their backs while appreciating a view often kept them from being interrupted.

Morim said “Did you hear that?’’

Garrus nodded “Yes, thank you. Spared me from an otherwise incredibly boring conversation.”

Morim grinned “Security will ensure he leaves. Or shoot him, I don’t care. He’s on his way off planet. What an insufferable ass.”

Garrus said “We’re chipping away at them.”

Morim tilted her head “They keep repopulating.”

Garrus sighed and said “Yes, it was more definitive when we could just shoot them, but it is true that we had limited opportunities for tying up and executing people with words alone. Now we have ample opportunity to indulge that whim. I liked the part about vermin.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: One year after arrival in Cipritine

Shepard

Garrus was happy. Garrus was very happy. Garrus was happier than normal, and for the last year he had been very happy. 

He was up to something. Possibly some things, plural.

She hadn’t regretted for a moment leaving Earth, coming to Palaven, working together. They’d both healed, embraced by family and embracing work worth doing. They’d forged a good political atmosphere for the wise and resolute, less so for the grasping and petty. They’d lived in the Vakarian compound in Cipritine, the clan greatly reduced in number, but fiercely loyal. Morim was a happy honorary aunt to dozens of children, learning all about the care and feeding of smaller Turians. This last year had seen the ceremonies for seven Vakarian teens she knew leaving for their first tours of duty in the military. The first year was traditionally spent on Cipritine in training and now in rebuilding. Solona had taken on a great deal of Vakarian business, she was addressed as Avah by many who had lost their own Avahs in the war. 

Solona also had a new bond mate, and Morim had the pleasure of being there for her sister-in-law’s marriage.

Liara and Javik were on Thessia rebuilding.

Samara and Falere were reunited and rebuilding the Monastery and Morim had supplied funding.

Jacob got a little more sleep and there was a second baby on her way.

Miranda kept her promise and ran occasional training clinics on Palaven and was always welcome to dinner.

Zaeed didn’t budge and he liked it that way.

Wrex and Bakara had uncounted children, and Grunt was trying to catch up.

Tali was a highly enthusiastic farmer, learning fascinating (to her) things about the acid content in the soil on her land.

The Normandy continued under Vega’s command, the crew intact, and with calls for shore leave often on Palaven.

Seeing Garrus un-stressed, day to day at work he loved, with family, respected and sought after was a revelation. He was beyond the person she had hoped he would be, given the chance. He was patient, wise and funny. He had just the right edge of irreverence that set him apart from other Turians. Humor was a new trend among Turian youth, as was exploring relationships outside of their own species and declaring love and bond proudly. “To Garrus” was now a conjugated verb. “My daughter went to an outpost and she came back with an Asari bond mate. She Garrused me.” Younger Turians wanted to emulate his style, so at ease with other species, so happy in his choices, without false humility or overbearing pride. They particularly liked the willingness to buck tradition and make honest statements, daring someone to argue. That contributed to his heroic air and new verb status.

Their roles had fluctuated again as they had often during their relationship, neither one of them being exactly in control, but circumstances weighing things in favor of his authority. He was among Turians, he blundered less, he charmed more, he was the person who drew the eye. She got her fair share of attention, but the female Turian gaze was much more riveted to him than the male Turian gaze was riveted to her.

She liked it. Good for him. As for the Turian ladies and ladies of other species who coveted her mate, nah nah nah nah nah nah. She was lucky and could afford to be outwardly gracious, but she was truly inwardly smug. 

He was up to something.

Fortunately all the things Garrus got up to were good things, so she didn’t have it in her heart to be suspicious or worried. His patterns had subtly changed, small actions and absences building and then bigger and longer ones, building to some unseen crescendo. She knew his work patterns, and he was away from the compound more often, secluded more often. It was a good thing, joyous energy seeming to bubble from his plates, rise off him like steam. Whatever it was, she was glad of it.

When it was time for lunch she had gone to his office and he’d informed her that they were taking the rest of the day off, he’d cleared it in advance with her assistants. They were going for a ride.

She had said teasingly “Do I get to find out why you’re so happy today?”

He had said “You should know the answer to that one. I’m happy because of you.”

She said “So you’re not going to tell me?”

He pulled her out of the office, out of the building and into a shielded vehicle in an underground garage, saying “Nope. But I’ll show you.”

They had driven out beyond the borders of the city proper. She’d tried to engage him in 20 questions but he said he had no idea what a bread box was, and that he wasn’t going to tell her, he was going to show her. 

Passing several security checks they had gone inside a massive encircling wall onto the grounds of what looked like a museum. It was a new building, the landscaped plants just beginning to find their way. Externally the building it was composed of what looked like mirrored glass in shades of gold and silver. No identifying signs. No clue where they were. Another underground parking garage and he’d offered her his hand, helped her from the vehicle and then lifted her into his arms. To the startled look on her face he’d said “Thresholds.”

She said “There’s nothing about carrying a woman over a threshold in a museum in tradition.”

He laughed and said “We’re making new traditions. This isn’t a museum.”

An elevator brought them up into what looked like an atrium, sun slanting through the glass, and the inside was bright with plants. Earth plants, definitely. A conservatory? She smiled “This is beautiful.” 

Botanical gardens? Someone had just put this here.

Garrus said “I’m glad you like it.” He carried her through the gardens, through corridors, the building moving along Turian lines. Much like the building they’d been married in, this seemed to be a building in fractal patterns. Central rooms, huge gathering spaces, branching out to more rooms with their own satellites, all encased in the warming glass, inhabited by Earth plants and flowers. She said “Look, rases and lellacs.”

He laughed and nuzzled her throat, continued to carry her through to what looked less like botanical gardens and more like functional living space. An office. She looked closer. An office with her things in it, or duplicates of much of what she liked. Adjoining another office, a wall of the same glass between, filled with things he liked.

Her brows drew together and said “Is this a new embassy?”

He shook his head, carried her through the office to another nest of rooms, this one definitely for a residence. A bedroom. A bedroom with…their things…closets of clothes, a Turian and a human bathroom. Her jaw dropped and she whispered sotto voce “Are we staying here?”

Looking out through the inside, the high security walls were cloaked with more terraced landscaping, Turian plants for the outside. Inside there was a wall lined with tulips.

He said “There. I’ve carried you over all the important thresholds. We will stay here only if you like it.” He put her down on her feet and watched her as she walked around the room, fingers trailing over fixtures and fabrics and flowers.

She said “How could I not like it? This is amazing. How did you find this place?”

He said “This place is your Madlis.” Madlis. It took her a moment. Headquarters…home…for a clan.

She said “My…Madlis? Is this a new Vakarian building?”

He shook his head “No. This is the Shepard Madlis.”

She raised a brow and said “Garrus, there are two of us.” She noticed suddenly that the tulips were the color of her tattoos.

He shrugged and said “For now.”

She laughed and said “This would house an army.”

He took her hand and said “Good point. We should get started on that.” He walked her out through a different exit and through the labyrinthine passageways. She noticed belatedly that Shepard colors were a recurrent pattern. Earth plants and offices and bedrooms and kitchens and…

And a ton of people. She heard them before she saw them. Garrus brought her to the heart of the Madlis, a huge circular room, vaulted arched glass in a dome overhead. There was a raised central dias, people sitting in the four quarters.

Silence fell as Garrus brought her to the central dias. She smiled at a few individuals she knew. Many, many people she did not know. Lots of Turians. A few humans. Lots of Turians she didn’t know. She knew mostly Vakarians, diplomatic corps, military. She saw no oceans of blue faces or enough recognizable uniforms…

What the hell was going on?

She looked at Garrus, assuming he was going to say something…in the huge room full of Turians. Housewarming?

Garrus stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He spoke clearly enough to be heard by the room “Rinkan has passed. Morim Shepard has seen her way through the bonding of her mate, the creation of her own clan, her service to her purpose and the passage of time. Her clan is established and I stand with her in the Madlis of Clan Shepard. Who else stands with her?”

Every person in the room stood.

It was a lovely housewarming for a huge museum of a home. Turian ceremonies didn’t have much in the way of words, this was for her benefit. She wanted to say thank you for the welcome, but Garrus bent his mouth to her ear and said “These people have applied through me as your Rinkan representative to join Clan Shepard. They are the first of many. There are more applicants and I know you enjoy…troubled children…these are the first of your Clan if you accept them. If you accept my judgment on their admission.”

Morim’s spine froze and she said a quiet, stunned “What? You couldn’t have given me…a heads up on this?”

He shrugged lightly and whispered “I thought you liked big surprises. You surprised me with a planet and a job. I’m only authorizing a house and a family. Much smaller as these things go. You can say no, just like I could have said no. Say yes.”

Her lips twitched and she said “What do I have to do?”

He said “Anything you want. There are no Shepard ceremonies yet. You could keep it very simple and say…welcome.”

Morim looked around the room, standing people looking apprehensive. She’d have to ask later how in hell…why…but for now…

She turned to the four quarters of the room, Garrus turning with her, his hands still on her shoulders, and she said “Welcome” in Turian and English to each section. When she was still, there was a huge cheer and stomping of feet with some scattered human clapping.

The first of many?

She turned and asked Garrus “How many people are here? How many…more?”

He smiled and said “500 now, here. There are over 2000 more who have applied. I approved those that seemed most compatible first, those who were already on Palaven and could get here without great cost in case you rejected them. You can review the rest. You can also banish anybody that you want. Changing or joining clans is permitted by application and other special circumstance normally, but this is a unique historical circumstance. The Primarch has allowed membership of non-Turians in Clan Shepard as the founder is human and I pointed out to her that it would be insulting to limit membership along species lines. That right may spread to other Clans if they request it. People from decimated clans, or people who admire you, people who admire me, people who admire our work, people who want to try new rules and new ways, these are your people. You are their Avah”

She felt tears begin to fall and she said “Our people.”

He wiped tears from her face, kissed the paths and said “Our people.” He pulled her hard to him and dipped her into a deep kiss to a renewal of cheering. 

You grab the girl and kiss her like you mean it.

Garrus pulled her up to her feet and moved his fingers over her cheekbones. He said “Go meet our people. I need to do something, I will be back soon.”

She said “I don’t think I can take any more surprises.”

He said “Oh, I think you can. I have faith, Venri.”

She watched him go, a few people were filing out as he was, through the exits of the room, but there were hundreds…hundreds more to meet. She put out her hand to the first person she didn’t know…and started introducing herself to her family.

She was good at this, meet and greet. It was a requirement of her job and she had no hesitation in embracing people that Garrus had chosen. About an hour later, when she was having an animated conversation with a group of Turians and humans, discussing the hopes and structure of the Clan, she felt Garrus’s warm hands on her shoulders. She turned to look at him and stopped with a gasp when she saw his face. He was smiling at her solemnly. His Vakarian markings were gone. The paint on his face was now a vibrant red, markings matching hers along his cheek plates and mandibles.

She lifted a trembling finger to trace along the lines of his face, transformed by the jolting change in ornamentation. His eyes were no longer reflected in the faded and chipped blue she’d known for years, now the surfaces were polished and redrawn with fire.

He covered her hands with his as she moved her fingers along the angles and lines of his face. He said “I must inform you that you may no longer claim protection of Rinkan, Avah. You may no longer address me as Vakarian.”

Her mouth opened and then she closed it and then she opened it again, his eyes growing warmer at her hesitation. She was torn between the loss of his markings that made him so distinct to her and how much pride he took in this gesture. She was lost in the waves of emotion, effort and meaning that guided him to bring her this moment. She knew the pride of the Vakarian clan that they’d sheltered with this last year. She didn’t understand…hadn’t expected…that he’d take Rinkan, a political convenience for an individual exceptional desire and expand that to encompass a dream of family and freedom, forging a path through the future. She hadn’t realized he’d take an idle fantasy of her skin in moonlight and her hair in sunlight and build a Madlis of glass with the flowers and beauty of Earth lining the walls.

This meant Shepard Clan would not pass into obscurity. This meant she’d have the full support of family. Family. With this they could have children…a place where they would be safe…

Of course they could have children now. Of course that was why he’d done it. He wasn’t content allowing her to give up a dream, even a dream oddly framed and made of fantasy wisps and otherwise abandoned, impossible. She’d have been happy with being around Vakarian children, that glancing and oblique experience of parenthood. She’d learned that it was magic and mundane, this acceptance of family, of belonging. Loving and knowing more people didn’t draw her away from Garrus, it gave them more shared experience, taught them more about each other and their separate cultures and emphasized where they met. Community and family grounded them, stitched them to immediate, precious time. Time together was a constant, an ocean on an endless shore, unbounded and unhurried now that they had their lives together the way they wanted. 

The extended family of representing Earth, of being surrounded by clan had given her nothing more to ask. She would have been happy, had been happy, being an honorary Vakarian…

The people here…humans and Turians, they wanted to be here because they would be able to have family and children as well, across bounds of culture and species. She wasn’t alone in her dream. Garrus as a verb stood for this, creating a future, drawing together hope and family and making them whole. He’d been insisting on being called Shepard for years and she’d thought it was only out of loyalty, to keep her company, but it was much more than that. It was ownership and intent.

Her mouth dropped open and stayed that way and he pulled her into his arms, her face against his chest, his hand closing over the back of her head, cradling her close.

Her glib tongue, the charm she wielded so easily, the cutting and sharp and witty were all gone. She was speechless.

She kept her head down, storms of realization swirling in her mind. She tried to think of things she might say…

Can I still call you frying pan?

I don’t deserve this.

I can’t believe…you did this…

But she could believe it. He was…

She babbled softly, he could hear, she knew. She spoke into his chest, letting some thoughts pass and keeping some back. “Venri…Garrus…thank you. I don’t deserve this, and I know you think I do, but I don’t deserve you. I am the luckiest person ever born, ever to draw breath, and I want to earn that every day. I…thank you. Venri, thank you. I don’t have the words…”

He kissed the top of her head and said “You don’t need words, Avah, and you don’t need to earn anything. You are welcome. May this Madlis bring you joy, may your family bring you life.” His voice was soft and he said “Speechless is good. I like speechless.”

When she decided that she wasn’t going to stop crying any time soon and that any family member of hers had best get used to seeing her do it…she lifted her head, traced her fingertips over the bright markings on his face, looked in his eyes and said “Thank you, Garrus Shepard.”

He’d given her back her name, and she wouldn’t allow the name Shepard, ever, to hold a moment’s disgrace or hesitation for as long as he held it as his own. She owed it to her new family to let the past drop away and embrace those simple syllables in new light. The look in his eyes as she said those words, framed in his new markings, let her know she’d said the right thing.

She looked around the room as it filled with people who had their markings either redone or newly applied to hopeful faces.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Two years after arrival at Cipritine

Shepard

Shepard Clan had family units living together in separate quarters in the Madlis or in Cipritine, but also community living spaces. Children could be left safely in the Madlis when parents went out into the world. There was care and schooling here. Turians had worked out community living over the millennia of clan evolution, and the basic economics and work sharing of her Clan followed Turian tradition. Individual Clan members contributed according to their ability, and the Clan as a whole was responsible for the welfare and care of each individual. Money even with this huge group and ostentatious Madlis was not a concern or worry, Clan Shepard had attracted many people already wealthy in their own right, contributing much and drawing back little. The Clan was ostentatiously funded. Their personal fortune had grown, even with the expense of the construction of the Madlis. Having Kasumi and a Shadow Broker supply stock tips was invaluable.

There had been outrage, of course there was always outrage, at the inclusion of other species in a new clan. Countering that was stark and solid Vakarian support and the enthusiasm of the Primarch regarding new beginnings. The outrage had burned itself out mostly, now belonging to those who were inclined to anonymous open letters and sour grapes. 

There were snipings and attacks metaphorically in the media toward the clan as a whole and at her in particular. Garrus escaped them mostly and he was infuriated by attempts at character assassination directed at her as the perceived weak link. There was an odd and diffuse outrage over her running a series of orphanages and schools on Earth, as though she would bring the habit of abandoning children to Palaven and then set up schools, indoctrinating children according to her whims.

Indoctrination. It was a very odd note to strike. Someone hadn’t done their research, hadn’t seen that she had no more direct control over the Academies and that running them had been given to a consulting board of experts in education and development. She was a source of funds and fund raising. People defending her had pointed out her own orphaned state and although she’d had to avoid all manner of questions regarding her childhood, it had little impact on her.

Frankly Morim couldn’t have cared less other than that it irritated Garrus and she made a point of laughing at it. Considering what they’d already faced, it was trivial. Ugly and sad, but trivial.

Morim was able to spend all day if she chose with the children of the Clan. Dozens and then hundreds of children. She got to know every person who lived under this roof, spoke to those who were off planet regularly, her personal and professional life filled with purpose. She was no longer alone in any of her endeavors. She had a corps of diplomatic attendants that could handle any issue of diplomacy, in her opinion better than she could personally, but people still insisted on meeting her, talking to her for some reason. Her opinion or presence inexplicably mattered. She considered herself a true figurehead in this case. She had a support system not to be surpassed in the frontier-seeking members of her own clan. Everyone shared what they knew with the rest of the clan. Garrus taught marksmanship. She and Garrus taught cross-species hand-to-hand techniques together. 

She mentored biotics. There had been an upsurge in Turians being born with biotic potential and many of them streamed to Clan Shepard, hoping for acceptance, implants and training, and they got all three. They’d been unable to be who they were in their own Clans, biotics being non-traditional and therefore mistrusted. It became a civil rights issue on its own, whether or not a Turian biotic was a corruption of nature or tradition. She defined them as people with unique potential and they deserved the opportunity to explore it. Although she never got another implant, she was powerful enough to demonstrate, train and guide anybody with biotic potential and a will to learn. There was the public blow back of being accused of raising her own private biotic army. She was proud of her own private biotic army. She’d taught people from all races and biotic potential to say ‘fuck ‘em’ to criticism, and that they could quote her. Then she gave them the real answer. “Clan Shepard is concerned with the future of biotic rights and cross-species cooperation, and those of like mind are always welcome here.”

When asked Garrus would follow up with a stern “I’ve seen many good reasons for Turians to disagree with each other. This is not one of them.”

Everyone in the clan took classes in different languages and was educated in divergent cultures. Garrus was now adept at English. They were learning more languages, had the time to soak it all in. The Madlis was powered by the accumulated dreams and hopes of individuals, a flow of bright, individual threads crafted into tapestry. 

She was so happy that there should be more words to describe her state of mind. Ecstatic. Joyous. Unbelievably lucky. She could find those words in English, Turian and Asari. She wasn’t adept at Drell yet, but she’d get around to it. 

The amount of autonomy she and Garrus had over their own lives was unique. Not only were they entirely capable of deciding when or where they were going to be ambassadors for the most part, they also set the law of their own private Clan. There were now humans, Turians, Asari, Drell and one researching Salarian in Clan Shepard, the latter having shamelessly used her familial connection to Mordin to gain access to anthropological research, happily joining the clan to be subject to the law here.

The law was pretty easy. It mostly revolved around being decent individuals and honoring the clan, honoring Turian law, honoring the self, honoring hope. Whatever security hoops Garrus made people jump through, by the time anybody made it inside the Madlis, they didn’t bring trouble with them.

They had turned quite a few people away, maybe one out of four applicants. She accepted quite a few trouble children, but not everyone was a fit for this place, and she grew more fiercely protective of what she wanted to build. She’d gone from recruiting people specifically for their talent for violence to recruiting people for their talent for creativity.

Having spent time with lots of violent people, they knew what they were looking for. Military training and even colorful pasts were acceptable, multiple arrests for assault was not. Any uncovered criminal activity that wasn’t outright disclosed also disqualified an applicant.

Some of her favorite places in the Madlis were the kitchens. She spent long hours there early in the mornings before work and hustle started. She enjoyed helping to get together breakfast, Asari, Drell, human and Turian men and women working and eating side by side, sharing techniques and stories. Children at tables and in chairs, all being fed, all hugged or comforted, entertained and loved. Strokes to fringes, stories, hands grasped. There were many kitchens in the Madlis and there were about 1500 of Clan Shepard in attendance right about now, 4000 total members at this point in time, more applying daily. They inducted new members once a month now.

They were going to have to build new Clan compounds in lots of places eventually, the first few being planned across Palaven, but this one would be the Madlis for the clan.

She paused from feeding little Selvi, a two-year old Turian girl when she saw Garrus came through the kitchen. He always found her, though she chose the kitchen randomly each day. She imagined he made his own rounds in the kitchens, enjoying greeting family wherever he went, but pausing longer wherever she was. They’d share breakfast. 

They were rarely apart for more than two hours at a time. While she made rounds through kitchens and checked in with the people, he ran his inspections of the personnel and maintenance of the building itself, of security. 

She handed Selvi her spoon and decided she could make a huge mess of herself if she wanted. If she needed a change of clothes she’d take care of that later, right now she wanted to step into Garrus’s arms and stay there. She stood and waited behind Selvi’s chair, smiling as he said hello and greeted people on his way to her. Garrus pulled her into his arms and gave her a morning greeting that he also used as a pet name now. “Brightsun.” He said the light through the glass in the mornings caused her hair to blaze and reminded him of the word’s fit in describing her.

He took her face between his hands and kissed her, the bustle of the kitchen moving around them as though they were frozen in time and unnoticed. Although kisses and embraces and tears might have been an unusual thing in most clans, in Clan Shepard people got accustomed to them quickly. Other members of the clan had taken up the mantle and the right to drop everything and celebrate a mate, a child, an accomplishment with active joy. People were efficient and purposeful, but not rushed. There was always time for love. Her toes curled and her sense of bliss reinvigorated in her system. She seemed to never be out of Reverie now. They were never separated for that long and the stability, the sustained joy of their life seemed to be reflected in Reverie, hardly ever out of her blood as he was hardly ever out of her sight. Their home, their work place, their lives were all wrapped up in one place he’d built with her in mind so well that she hardly ever left. There was nowhere else she wanted to be. They had conferences, meetings and state events held here in some of the public spaces, security was so well managed and the building was so beautiful that Cipritine could offer nothing like it to state guests.

A sudden noise from behind her and to the right startled her and she turned, grabbed Selvi, got the baby behind her back and stood in front of Garrus.

Kelis, a young Turian man, looked guiltily at her, the culprit having been a pan he’d dropped, sounding like a gunshot.

Everyone stared for a few startled moments and then Selvi grabbed at Morim’s hair. Garrus broke the spell first, started to laugh, everyone else starting to laugh.

Garrus said “Did you just…try to protect me from a pan?”

Morim let Selvi pull at her hair for a while and then put her back into her chair, extricating herself by distracting her with the spoon again and putting it into her grasp. She said “Well…I didn’t know it was a pan at the time. I thought your response time was lagging.”

He said wryly “Because it was a pan. I saw it. Your observation skills were lagging. You’re supposed to let me do that. Protect you.” He looked around the room, raised his hands in exasperation and asked the room at large “Isn’t she supposed to let me do that?”

There was more laughter in the form of snickering and Kelis said “I am not taking sides on this.”

Garrus said dismissively “Coward.”

Kelis said haughtily “I like to think of it as prudence.”

Morim said “I claim the right to protect everyone in this room from pans. New rule.”

Garrus scoffed “I’m vetoing that.”

Morim said “Can’t. You haven’t the authority and nobody’s taking sides. The next pan that makes a move is screwed.”

Selvi yelled at the top of her lungs “SCREWED!” and banged her spoon, and there was the mess.

Morim started to laugh and Garrus shook his head and said “Corrupting the youth. She’s clearly taking sides.”

Kelis said with a shrug “Corrupting the youth is kinda what we do here.”

Morim pointed at Garrus and said “He started it.”

Garrus shook his head and said “No, no, no. You corrupted me. I’m sure of it.”

Morim raised a brow and said “He’s also a liar.”

Garrus shook his head and said “That’s it. She’s corrupting breakfast.” He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and she shouted “Beware the pan uprising!” on their way out. They were across the compound of the Madlis from their rooms, but Garrus navigated a hallway and found his way unerringly to an unoccupied living space, opened the door and then locked it behind them.

She said “How do you do that?”

He shrugged and she felt her shoulder rolling under her stomach “I’m strong. You’re not that heavy.”

She tsked and said “No. How do you always know where there is an empty room?”

He sighed and said “You still underestimate me. It’s sad. Granted it was easier when there were only 50 people here at any one time, but I will always do my due diligence.”

She said “You have a map overlay on your visor?”

He put her on her feet and kissed her neck, his arms coming around her. She leaned back until his arms took most of her weight, tilting her head back until she was lightheaded. He said softly in her ear “I have maps…real time personnel tracking…security…housekeeping and maintenance schedules…and…lockout…authorization.” Each declaration was accompanied by pulling at her clothes. She’d had a tailor design work clothes that came apart quickly if you knew how. He knew how. Clothes dropped away with practiced ease.

She said in a breathy voice “That is…the most seductive thing I have ever heard. The pans have no chance against you.”

His hands were tense, trembling, and his breathing fell harsh and heaving on her neck. Both of them had their moods and their moments, and although they’d disarmed the situation and laughed about the sound of a gun, these things were too deeply ingrained in their psyches to be truly dispelled so easily. Nobody else would know that it had struck a chord that rang deep through the silences and didn’t still when the pretense stopped. 

She’d stood between him and the threat.

He had her, literally, finally and as often as he wanted in a room all to himself. He’d built this home, he controlled it with ruthless efficiency and care. A home she couldn’t or wouldn’t leave due to the planet’s composition and how well he’d built it for her. He’d become the most influential person she in Turian politics and culture, surpassing the Primarch by a wide margin.

She’d stood between him and the threat.

She wished she hadn’t, but she had. She wished she had the instincts now to dive under a table or stand behind him, but she didn’t. She wished she’d known by sound that it was a fucking pan and spared him this.

Just as she could be back unpredictably in a shuttle in pain without a leg or chained to a wall inside her head, he could be yanked back to feeling helpless to protect her.

She’d stood between him and the threat.

She couldn’t change that. She couldn’t make a promise, she wouldn’t lie to him, she wouldn’t tell him she’d be able to let him handle it, let him face a threat alone. No matter how much he wanted her to.

She would always, always, fight for him. They’d resolved most of their conflicts and disagreements and what remained was what was hard coded in her, something he could never change. She would die for him and always would, and it made him frantic. They didn’t have this conversation because she loved him too much to lie and he was too smart to believe it if she did. Experience taught them both the answer.

To him there was something inherently un-feminine, un-mate-like in her behavior. To him she was a more valuable target than he was and she didn't see it that way, had never seen it that way, would never see it that way. She could give him all the intellectual and studied authority he wanted, but moments of danger had their own lore and law. This was beyond any logical questions of right of way. After years of sacrifice and then years of plenty she was still the same inherent person she’d been before she put on a uniform. In a crisis she was going to move fast and she was going to run toward a threat.

The threat had been a pan…and that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had done what she had done and he had seen it.

She imagined how he felt at this moment, as though the flesh were stripped from him and he were nothing but bone and nerves, raw and unguarded. Flayed and fearing. His hands moved with the unique and clashing impulses of patient frenzy, his hard-bitten restraint keeping him from taking out his internal havoc on her. There would be fear and then an inrush of anger from a thousand remembered moments. She knew that path intimately, having held his face together with her hands. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do other than be under his hands, wait for his words to return, wait for that tsunami of fear and recollection to pass from his mind. He wasn’t angry at her, he was angry at himself in irrational ways. In his mind would be spinning why wasn’t he at the right angle, what if that pan had been a gun, what if his measures had failed, what if she’d died…

Again. What if she’d died again. He blamed himself for her death.

Trying to talk about it would be not only futile, but destructive. They were both too good at words, too willing to comfort the other by giving in to an intellectual desire. She'd love to promise him that she'd always be safe. He'd love to convince himself he could always protect her. They both knew none of these things would ever be true. He couldn’t help how he felt any more than she could help what she did. They were both instincts, immutable.

She imagined his psyche splattered with hot tar and he could do nothing but wait for it to cool, tearing at it would wound deeper and spread it. She breathed steadily, not matching his harsh breathing pace, not willing to speak, ceding the entire moment to his control.

She desperately wanted to comfort him, and she couldn’t. Not with words.

What she could do…would be to stand between him and a threat. 

She would not allow him to retreat. She would not allow him to be alone in the futile silences. She would not defend herself or try to prove to him that he loved her as she was, reckless instinct and all. She would accept her un-mate-like behavior as her deeper truth, and that she loved him as her deepest truth and she would not say a word.

She would stand by him, stand with him, until he took her off her feet, which he would do. A wraith of the past and the possible future trailing its cold finger down his spine could not survive Reverie. He’d want to punish himself and she wouldn’t allow it. He’d want to be separate to be coldly angry at himself and she wouldn’t allow it. She imagined in him right now the further instinct to run and hide, something she understood.

The good news is that storms like this happened, but they blew through and passed. It was beyond either of them to run out, away from truth. Their moments in the kitchen also defined who they were. Glib and disarming, setting people at ease, her dismissive and distracting humor, his interest in physically removing her from a room in his arms. It happened enough under less strained circumstances that it wasn't unusual to see her carried through hallways to empty rooms. They had that luxury, there was nothing being done that couldn't be interrupted, they'd built their lives that way and reveled in the luxury of time, of support, of that tailored and indulged need for each other.

What she would allow would be for him to work out that patient frenzy with her body, on her skin, with his teeth and his hands and will. The charming, teasing and calm husband that everyone else knew would be gone, replaced by the man she knew, the man he allowed her to see, broken down beyond words to uncontrolled, unmet need. Charm, teasing and calm would not be of interest to this man, and he would know she would know why.

He hadn’t removed his clothes, only hers. Her weight was fully back on his arms. He lifted her, turned her and pressed her against the glass spangled by the edge of the sunrise. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. She gasped at the cold of the glass contacted and pressed against her breasts, and then she fell silent, still. His hands came up along with her arms, drawing her unresisting hands over her head, secured in the grip of one of his hands. His breathing stayed harsh and deep, he pressed his body tighter to hers. Her head was turned so she could see his face, intent and remote from her, allowing her to watch but not share. He spent uncounted long minutes breathing hard through his nose and growling softly on each breath let out. His free hand moved to sift her hair through his talons, a meditation of sparking red, that hand gentle patience and his eye drawn contemplatively as his breath grew harsher and the hand restraining her wrists gripped tight enough to bruise.

He forced her mind to the places where his dwelled right now, primitive and under the influence of different parts of the brain than the conscious mind. He brought out fear in her. Not terror, but an awareness of a thin overlay of insidious primal danger poured out like a sheen of oil, making the hair stand out on the back of her neck and on her upper arms. She wondered if he could smell that on her, if he pushed her into positions until she smelled like what he wanted, a dash of pain, a touch of fear, a note of helplessness to match his own.

Was it better that way for him? Spirits, to have a Turian nose, to know that alchemy that he worked undetected. Bound by her own limitations of sensing she was so fully out of her league, again, always.

Her mind was aware that this was not a good position to be in, and historically likely resulted in being eaten, teeth and hard plates pressed to softer, helpless flesh. Parts of her mind wanted her to scream, or bargain, or struggle. With an effort of conscious will reinforced each second, she didn’t, but focused on breathing, her own breath strained along with his, either her pace had matched his or he’d matched hers.

He needed her and she needed him to know that she loved him when he was stripped of his defenses, same as he knew she loved him when she was angry and ready to hit him because he was there and she wanted to hit something. Her anger could always be defused by his charm and wit and willingness to dare her to hit him anyway because he could work with that. His needs were different. He didn't need or want charm or wit, her words or her managing him.

She was still…trying to manage him…she couldn’t help it. She was sure, though, that any action she took in any direction would be denied, whatever it was, short of her telling him to stop, which he would do immediately and she would never ask.

Primacy.

The word came to her in a flash of discordant insight. There was nothing she could do, no way she could serve. He didn’t want that, wouldn’t allow it, because it was inherently about primacy. His focus would be on her, what she wanted, because that’s what mattered to him. The violence saturating and knotting his muscles would abate only that way.

If he set her free, she’d speak, she’d run her hands over his body, she’d kiss and cajole him to some facile acceptance, but it would also be a denial, a dismissal of a truth and he would let her do it.

Years of bonded life and sex, experience taught them a great deal but it could still be vertiginous and magnetic, flipping poles at will and dropping them through expectations like tearing tissue paper, ego and intent shredded. It was like losing gravity, having no horizon, spinning like a dizzy pilot in a cockpit plunging toward the surface.

He would like for her to hold…fucking…still…

She imagined him screaming inside his head that he wished she would stay… the fuck… down… just once.

Would she, if he asked?

If he asked, yes. If she knew the choice was him or her, no. She would defy that order. Every time.

This was why, the way to fool his body into believing he had actual control over her ultimate actions. Just like her mind could be frightened into believing harm would come to her when she knew it wouldn’t, he could fool his body into believing no harm would come to her when he knew it would. Someday, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how careful he was, she would die, again. That was a fact, and one he couldn’t bear.

He licked at the back of her neck and the tiny hairs rising there and she let out a soft moan. After the sound escaped his growl was interrupted fractionally when he pressed to her tighter, then ran his hand up her goose fleshed arm with a sound of satisfaction. He lowered her arms, keeping them parallel to the ground, out to the side, gripped in his hands, pulling the skin of her neck and shoulders out taut.

She wanted to hold onto to her rational mind and hold still, be quiet, be receptive, but that was going to be impossible. The skin on the back of her neck and her tightened shoulders was sensitive and needy once touched, the concentrated and tense nerve endings under his tongue, scraped by teeth and the edges of mouth plates made her attention pull to that focused spot, nothing left over for intent, her knees trembling and held up by him bodily. He knew her body and the different sensations he could pull from her skin. He knew where she was ticklish, where she was sensitive. He'd made a study of her and the intimacy of his recursive and dedicated knowledge of what he could call out of her given any expanse of her skin brought her one more step away from intending to comfort him and further toward please…do that again…

She didn’t know the rules and didn’t know how to help and wanted to beg and wanted to hold still. Spirits, maybe that’s what he wanted anyway, that she just feel the same chaos that racked him, need with no relief, build with no outlet.

Whatever he wanted, he could get it from her, she knew.

Except for that promise.

Chaos she could do. Especially now. He’d spoken no words so she’d speak no words, but he spoke with his body and she’d speak with hers. She was pressed so tight to the glass that she couldn’t move much, but she could invite. She relaxed her shoulders, flexed her body back to better fit him, matching symmetry of his chest to her spine and fitting her ass into the overarching curve of his wide-spaced thighs.

He answered with a growl and his mouth opened over the back of her neck, drawing points of blood. An open-mouthed moan of hers turned into a high whimper.

He dropped her arms to her sides, then he drew her back against him with his chin digging its plates into her collarbone and his hands on her hip and stomach. His harsh breathing and soft growls were at her ear, as a counterpoint to her whimpers. His hands passed over her skin in unpredictable trails, talons and fingertips along her waist, sides, belly, breasts and then back down and around. He dragged his talons over her stomach to feel the shuddering muscles underneath her skin, the involuntary twitching reflecting how she’d progressed to involuntary responses so quickly under his hands.

He lifted her off the ground, a hand at her waist dragging her up his body, and a hand tight at her throat as he bit and licked at the skin of her neck that was exposed between his wide fingers. Another shot of thin fear and a stab of pain and pressure as her breathing was restricted not too much, just enough to feel it and add a stab of panic that dispersed like fireworks along her nerves. He lowered her body and his cock dug at the skin of her thighs, pressing and sliding without guidance. He lifted her again and lowered her and then eased his hold of her weight until she was biting her lip, ready to scream, and then she did half scream, half wail as he bit down harder and drove inside her body at a painful angle, the pain dispersing in the same fireworks after a long suspended moment before he supported her weight again. He leaned back at an angle made possible by his body, impossible with hers. He let out a feral growl at the sound, at the feel of her. She was arched against him, renewed and rejoined Reverie seeping through and dissolving worry, finding home. She wanted the same for him, a lessening of strain, a relaxing of his muscles and softening of his voice, but it didn't come to him the same way. Reverie called to her to let go, but it sharpened his focus on her, pressing his advantage. The hand at her throat moving to play at her clit as she was leaned back against him like a butterfly pinned on a board. 

He held her suspended and hanging against the unyielding cliff of his body, his tongue, mouth and growl against her throat, against her ear, drips of purple over her collarbone and down her breast and stomach. He forced and fed pleasure into her, onto her, and a hard, blinding Reverie-drenched orgasm spread through her body, exquisitely aware of how he moved inside her. He was demanding of primacy, unspoken but clear in intent growls, the rough hold on her and the guttural sounds he drew from her, squeezing the breath from her.

She could measure his sense and present-day self coming back to him through the easing of his shaking and his hands gentling on her body, his mouth moving from bites to kisses.

His growls shifted from demand to approval to agreement to adoration. He wore her down, exhausted her and then carried her to the bed, put her down on the blankets and covered her body again with his as she trembled. He licked sweat and the thin blood trails from her skin, allowed and encouraged her to touch him, to kiss him back. He was patient and satisfied with her unsteady-eyed exhaustion. He held her gaze, rested her hands on his shoulders and slid back inside as her head arched again, then he rolled over and draped her body on top of himself, pulling blankets around her, content to hold her here for hours, because he could and because she wanted that time with him.

There was absolutely nothing more important happening anywhere.


	37. Chapter 37

Timeline: Five years after arrival on Cipritine

Garrus

Shepard Clan had surged to over 10,000 members and spread to other cities, other planets, other outposts. Outraging what remained of the old guard of the Turian hierarchy still thrilled Garrus on a daily basis. Palaven was being dragged into a new future, some inhabitants kicking and protesting, some enthusiastically and engaged in new ideas.

The Madlis had become too small to accommodate everything needed locally in the face of rapid growth. A hospital, library, schools and a larger community had grown around the Madlis building. Clan Shepard members owned businesses, ran industries, served in the military. The Clan was subject to Turian law and custom, so through age 15-30, Shepard humans, Drell and Asari were entering military service alongside Shepard Turians, who along with Vakarians were loyal to their clan mates and allowed no hazing. Once those from Clan Shepard showed their willingness to cooperate and work hard, the concern over their induction died down. They were all well trained in combat and culture by the time they left the Madlis. If someone entered Clan Shepard between the age of 15 and 30, there would be a year of orientation before entering service, so nobody was entering the military blind and ignorant. The sole Salarian Shepard was exempt due to life span limitations. 

The military was restructuring with General Victus in charge of the process, so the transition to multiple species in the military was smoothed. Non-Turian Clan Shepard members were stationed in Cipritine under sympathetic superior officers as mentors and thankfully quickly found their way into the general population of recruits. Definitely preferential treatment, no doubt. Nobody opposed it openly or in any legal process because this was still all entirely new and attacking Morim or Garrus was hazardous politically. Word of mouth campaigns could be devastatingly costly in trade, favors and status. Clan Shepard had political and groundswell support and military service was honored. People might want to complain, but didn’t know exactly how to go about it. To accuse Clan Shepard of sabotage or espionage was an outrage with no level of proof. Any concern about non-Turian combat ability would have Victus lecturing about his time on Earth and on the Normandy fighting alongside people from different species. He’d further point out that it had been a human who had led the charge against the Reapers, while Saren had been a Turian. Comments put delicately about “dilution” of Turian culture were disingenuous when Shepard education on language, law and culture was so extensive and everyone spoke the language and served with distinction and dedication. It was also ludicrous when put next to the eventual comment that the “dilution” of Turian people would have brought the population down to 0% had Morim and Garrus not worked together, providing the model for cooperation and strength through diversity.

New fitness and testing standards had to be developed, understanding of biotic needs of multiple races including Turians was formulated. The military was rebuilding but was under no stress to perform as a military at war in Earth terms. Earth had civil and military services such as police and armies, and that seemed to Garrus, and to Morim eventually, that the standing army with no purpose other than war had been one of the things contributing to being at war constantly. Armies were assets, without being used they would cost too much to keep around. Without a war, a dedicated and restricted army sat on its ass eating resources and producing nothing. The military on Palaven served civil and vocational purposes. The Turian societal model had been the one to provide C-Sec with its structure, functioning at all levels as needed, a much more responsive and useful system, more of a symbiotic system. A Turian soldier didn’t have to pay for an education, the service was the education, and the many years resulted in finding an area of expertise through that exposure. A Clan provided the community for an individual on Palaven, but the Military provided the experience in practical fields that would ultimately determine where a Turian would wish to serve in society. It was more flexible and more practical than Earth custom. 

The military was presently engaged in public works and reconstruction. There were no wars, there were very few conflicts among Turians themselves other than cultural moaning, which happened everywhere and didn’t require guns. There was very little in the way of criminal activity. The war had transformed criminal endeavors. Travel being cut off for so long had choked out the infrastructure for organized trade in black market goods and slaves. Mercenary groups that had consisted of Batarians were gone, their home system’s Mass Effect relay closed. They had been hit first and hardest, it was possible they were lost to star travel or lost entirely. Krogan were no longer signing out as mercenaries as they were busy rebuilding Tuchanka and settling other planets. Vorcha were nowhere to be seen on intergalactic travel rosters. Garrus wasn’t even sure where Vorcha came from, come to think of it. He should know. The Shrike Abyssal somewhere? Hopefully somewhere that they couldn’t open up their own Mass Effect relay? He’d look it up later if it ever came up. He hoped it wouldn’t come up. Omega had taught him all he wanted to know about Vorcha.

The complaints about Morim and the name Shepard simmered but did not spill over into destructive force since it was so often turned back on the accuser and attracted negative attention to the speaker. Someone out to drag up some manufactured accusation had to contend with Kasumi’s and Feron’s vengeance on such things and risked making the Primarch or Victus take a side. Historically they would take Morim’s side, their tolerance for manufactured bullshit having run thin over time. With Shepard clan enthusiastically bolstering the military and providing outreach, the Vakarian clan willing to growl at anybody who looked at a Shepard funny, it was a losing game.

Aria was still alive and had retreated to Thessia. Omega had been obliterated. 

Good.

Aria was a folk hero and an honored matriarch on Thessia, and her reputation was known even on Palaven. It had been made clear through rumor, not clear to anybody who had started it, that without her, Morim and Garrus would never have reunited. So really, their collaboration was Aria’s doing. It was all very mysterious. Morim and Garrus never contradicted the assertion. Aria appeared to be aiding simply in reconstruction, but Morim had stated she had a shot at real power on the home world now, and it wouldn’t be surprising to see her gain it over the next century or so. Garrus anticipated a state visit somewhere in there. He’d happily take Aria out for a drink, if only to toast to Omega’s demise and keep a straight face at her expression.

Kolyat had survived, having left the Citadel to travel in the company of Hanar to help defend Kahje, and there he remained, studying the religion of his people, teaching the same at a cultural center and spending time with his wife and young son. 

There was no more C-Sec, which had caused collapse of a great deal of Turian status and authority. Casualties on the Citadel had been 100%, none escaping the hijack of the station. There was no surviving record of that event after the pulse. Bailey had not made it off the station. Sildiv, any number of friends, colleagues and family had perished, buried in mounds of bodies. Liara's father, Aethyta gone. Unaccepted losses of Turian people, families, ambition and service, gone. 

There was no more Citadel. Without the Keepers the station had begun to decay in orbit, systems shut down. Reclamation of material and tech became life threatening. The Citadel had been sheared into smaller pieces, materials repurposed, some intact pieces kept for study or as museum exhibits. There wasn't much left to study. Reaper tech was defunct and unresponsive, unable to be restarted. Some people still vowed they would recover Reaper secrets, but much to Morim’s peace of mind, it remained unsalvageable.

Dr. Chakwas and her ever-present Turian doctor Alcinder were research and service partners at the Madlis hospital. They were certainly life partners, publically subdued but privately intense and dedicated. Karin was happy. Not bonded. Alcinder had been bonded to a Turian mate who had died during the invasion. They were working together on research and consulting on the more difficult cases presented to the hospital. The sole Salarian Shepard Clan member, Kirsel, was also at the hospital often when not taking down histories at the Madlis, advising and researching and assisting. There were programs for restarted research into Vrolik's Syndrome, Corpalis Syndrome, Kepral's syndrome…and a fertility clinic. Miranda had recently taken up permanent residence, having handed off her limb regeneration research to others who wished to extend and deliver the service. She was on to a new challenge, convinced that if she could bring back the dead, with enough funding she could aid Morim and Garrus specifically, Clan Shepard and the galaxy in general if she could develop some method of genetically combined hybrid birth. She was starting with studying how Asari managed to integrate genetic material and adapt. That particular bit of research was well funded but not well publicized. Concerns for fanatic terrorism were not underrated. A lot of unsteady people did not want to see hybrid life. They had enough problems without advertising for more.

Miranda was optimistic, Garrus less so. He didn’t doubt her ability, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He did remember this was the woman who had looked at a body composed of 'meat and tubes' based on Jacob's description, and thought 'sure, I can bring her back.' She'd done it, but he had no idea how. This was a long-term project, and the obstacles immense. Physiology, mechanics, chirality and chemistry seemed far too complicated to conquer. It was in the realm of magic as far as he was concerned. Still, there was time and money, he wasn't holding his breath, and in the meantime there was no shortage of children streaming through the hallways and rooms of the Madlis. He knew quite a bit about raising Turian children. Every Turian was expected to be able to care for any child in the clan younger than they were. Morim attacked the subject with her uncanny focus and attention to detail, and he was sure she knew more about it than he did at this point. She was never rushed, never worried, always had teams to help her diplomatically or with clan business, always willing to stop and talk, same as she had been on the Normandy. She had adapted her style to accommodate thousands of people, identifying strengths and potential in people that she built into self-driven, talented teams, never taking credit for the synergy she created, her unique gift of laying on hands and bringing life into hope and dream.

Morim beat people up in hand to hand training, and whatever she’d lost in strength she’d made up for in technique and her Leviathan-gifted speed of processing her environment. Her biotics had strengthened even without an implant, and she’d discovered that she could suppress other people’s biotics in her presence, something she could not teach. She was back to being able to control anybody physically with her bursts of controlled biotic intent, she could restrain and immobilize.

Fun in bed.

Really fun in bed.

Or on the floor. Or against a wall. Especially against glass.

Her biotics strength seeming to build along with her body’s ability to rest and rejuvenate among people she loved, doing work she valued. Her scars had disappeared, her valor marks fading and her healing restored to an inhuman overdrive. 

Also fun in bed, as she’d slowly over time assured him that she would be displeased if he didn’t use his claws, use his teeth, pushed him to do it.

She was convincing.

He’d liked her scars but he couldn’t deny that he also liked expanses of skin with no reminders of past pain and eyes that looked toward the future and did not lose their light down the well of her regrets and losses. She wore dresses now, elaborate gowns and not armor.

He was helpless as he always had been to a simple request from her lips or to her biotics that no longer seemed to originate from her hands and travel, but arrived instantaneously wherever she wanted them. 

The majority of her technique she could not teach and it stayed put away while she encouraged others to develop their own biotic gifts, starting with the ones she knew and occasionally sparking new ideas in talented students, of which she had many. She was much stronger than she showed, having privately demonstrated. 

She couldn’t win at arm wrestling. 

He could overpower her, certainly, but she could take him in a fair fight hand to hand. Since she made fights unfair in her favor, she could take him down still hand to hand if he wasn’t careful, or even if he was. His training was based on power and she’d adapted to multiple methods that used his power against him. Her class was popular and she had been compelled to give it more often and to more people. She’d also identified enough talented combat instructors from her students who extended the training and added their own styles.

Curious military trainers had stopped by to audit and then to participate after Shepard Clan youth made it into their orientation. Humans able to take down Turian trainers with speed and balance was a novelty. Turians trained at the Madlis were equally good at surprising their instructors.

He’d once commented that seven children were excessive and that sounded quaint now. Hundreds. There were hundreds of children in Cipritine alone at any one time and Avah was in high demand. The walls of the Madlis breathed in and out like a living thing with light, celebration and dedication. Time was marked by measuring Human birthdays, Asari Awakenings, Turian Service Commemorations, Drell Dreamwell dates. There were marriages, bonding ceremonies, anniversaries, births.

Then there were the other memories, other needs of community. There were deaths.

Morim had taken one of the huge rooms intended for gatherings in the Madlis and set it aside as a sanctuary. She’d moved in Avah’s candle, Jack’s candle, and added candles for others. Legion’s candle had an N7 insignia on the side. Mordin’s had a seashell. Thane’s had the symbol for Arashu. She encouraged people to visit and contribute their own mementos to the lost. It was now a lit, lush sanctuary of flowering trees and a floor of Palaven soil and simulated simple open flame sources, rows of terraced holographic candles lighting the space, inviting contemplation. Anything there from picnics to meditation was allowed, as long as the space was treated with respect. It always was, and the candles grew in number because losses continued, and with a group of so many people, loss was inescapable.

Right now the Madlis hospital held a Turian woman giving birth to a Turian child, and the mother would not survive. Garrus stood with his hand on Morim’s shoulder, and Morim held the young mother’s hand. Her name was Senni. Dr. Chakwas and Alcinder were in attendance for the delivery. The birth was induced prematurely and dangerous, but nowhere near as harrowing as human births. Having done some surreptitious research, Garrus was absolutely terrified at the idea of that happening to Morim. Abdominal plates opening, or in this case opening with medical assistance was a much easier method than human biology. If he hadn’t checked multiple sources thinking the description of the ordeal was a prank, he wouldn’t have believed humans gave birth the way they did. 

Senni was a young woman who had recently lost her bond mate, and was about to lose herself. She had been a member of a clan scraping for relevance, unfortunately armed with desperate ambition and little else. She’d been sent to start a mining community with a group to develop clan resources. Turned out there was a reason why this particular mother lode of minerals had gone unexploited, though the original survey information was gone, lost in the war. A condition that behaved much like heavy metal poisoning struck the colony, insidious sources that weren’t filtered out from water or air, molecules that sank into the skin on contact with any surface. Senni’s bond mate had sent her, heavily pregnant, to Cipritine to ask for help for the colony. Garrus suspected he knew help wouldn't come, but it would get her the hell off that cursed rock.

She had found a sympathetic ear in Morim and in Garrus, who were unwilling to blame a dying, pregnant woman for the loss of clan personnel and resources, her mate and her life. When Senni's clan had blamed her for lack of research…which was in fact fair because she had been part of the science team to recommend mining…Senni had made a culturally dramatic and politically ticklish decision. With her clan closing ranks about blame, Senni had begged to be admitted to Clan Shepard before her child was born. Her daughter would be clan gift. Senni had been welcomed to the Madlis hospital and Dr. Chakwas had managed some chelation therapy that would extend but not save her life. The therapy had saved the life of her child. 

Complicating this, Senni was not of sound mind, not at all. The poisoning had affected her thoughts and she had deteriorated into incoherence. Her family and clan were decimated and conflicted. Garrus was big on causing outrage, but this was something that gave even him pause. He felt in his bones that the baby belonged with her clan, something ingrained in him. 

Garrus had arranged for a team to reconnoiter the mining colony with full hazard precautions, and everyone at the compound had been found dead. The bodies had been returned to Palaven, but with the precaution that the bodies remain sealed in impermeable shrouds that should not be opened, the bodies should not be touched or burned to avoid contamination. This had the further result of seeming to violate Palaven burying custom and making it appear to the unhinged that Clan Shepard was advising the desecration of the bodies of the fallen.

They saw a lot of unhinged people in their line of work. Still. Likely always. No good deed goes unpunished. Words Morim had taught him from human idiom. Very un-Turian in sentiment, but true sometimes especially among Turians in a backward sense. Punishment for all imperfect deeds was often expected, it encouraged striving for perfection, and although that was a Turian strength, it could also unfortunately be a cultural weakness. Authority could and had throughout history used the stoicism and expectation of imperfection of those lower in rank as an excuse to flog them along unreasonably and expect no complaint. Garrus was dedicated to seeing that tradition stop. Good deeds should be rewarded. 

People historically did not clan hop…not in the way Senni had just done out of desperation. He didn’t blame Senni, her clan he’d discovered was past the point of being solvent or organized, and was a clan in name only. Historically clan membership had been essentially a birthright and about blood lines and individual traditions, unthinkable to abandon one for another. It was possible, but it wasn’t done other than through marriage. He’d known of nobody who had attempted it in his lifetime before the war. Eons of time of Turian society had developed clans of such large size that if they were not beneficial to all clan members, they were at least prosperous enough to keep up appearances, and the Turian soul thrived on pride. The war and the existence and potential escape of Clan Shepard had disrupted that, and more people were thinking of abandoning their failing clans and joining theirs. Clans before the war had consisted of millions of people. Vakarian clan still had hundreds of thousands of surviving members after the destruction of the war, fixtures in Cipritine and other city centers, controlling a great deal of land and influence still. Senni’s clan had developed barely solvent communities that were not self sustaining, had had their Madlis center on Palaven destroyed, and their communities abandoned. Away from Palaven, cut off from tradition and support for years without resources, social structure had deteriorated. Before the war Senni would have had recourse, Clan support and resources. Now she had absolutely nothing to lose and either way would have the condemnation of desperate people. Either way she would die. What she wanted was a future for her daughter.

It was tragic, and Morim did not see any point to making people suffer for their heritage. Also very un-Turian.

He was okay again being a bad Turian all things considered in the harsh light of reality versus the expectation of culture. He was glad to feed refugees from other clans, take them in, make them family. He would not discourage or bar people from seeking a better future as long as they did so in good faith and passed his security checks. It hadn’t come up that people had asked to leave Clan Shepard, but he’d certainly release people without guilt also. If their better future was elsewhere he wouldn’t stand in their way.

Morim understood the nuances of Turian politics, but was not conflicted about Senni's fate, unwilling to allow Senni's final days to be composed of censure of her personally and fear for her own death and her child's life. Had Senni's clan been more stable, Morim might have considered denying entry, but in reality Senni's clan was too small and destitute to care for a young child with no parents. She feared the child would be resented, punished for being a constant reminder of a public and permanent failing. There were no representatives of clan at all on Palaven. Clan gift children were most often cared for by close relatives, and Senni had none remaining, all wiped out in the war and even her bond mate's family was gone. Senni’s clan was strung out over too many locations with too little population, unable to travel or consolidate power or make centralized decisions. Garrus did not disagree with any of Morim's assessments, he just felt more heavily the limitations of compassion on clan systems that were based on appearance. 

She’d wanted to offer to help Senni’s clan somehow but he knew they could not offer aid without appearing condescending if not insulting, or as though they were buying a child. He’d convinced her not to try. Morim had learned that of Turian politics, that saving face was a way of life. There were no open channels here for cooperation, and only Senni's wishes allowed any interference at all. The choice was abandoning a child to possible neglect against her mother's wishes or accepting her into the Clan despite whatever conflict that generated. Regardless of Senni's compromised body and thought process leading to the choices that led her here, she was going to die and she was going to have a child and Morim felt those two things should be done with dignity and support.

Senni had to be put under full anesthesia and she never woke up. Her daughter, now Shepard clan gift, was named Gwena, after the Turian climbing vines with yellow flowers that graced the heights of the Shepard Madlis inner wall. Gwena had violet eyes, hide the light blue of an Earth morning sky, pre-plate overlaps in the shade of iridescent cloud and Morim was never going to put her down.

Clan gift was up to the discretion of the Clan Avah to determine, and Morim might have allowed her to go to someone else, might have intended that. She hadn’t discussed it, this had happened quickly. It was possible she didn’t want to plan or get hopes up because Gwena living had been so uncertain. Garrus knew that Gwena was their daughter as soon as he saw the light in Morim’s eyes and the sound of Morim’s voice telling the baby what her name was, a tiny hand of light blue wrapped around her thumb.

Despite the stories of human babies keeping up parents all night, and the attendant horror of breast feeding…okay, it seemed more of a horror because Turian children were born with fangs…Gwena fit into their life without any disruption. They had all the infrastructure needed for family. Morim knew everything she needed to know about the care of a Turian child. They had a schedule that could revolve around Gwena, or a schedule where Gwena could be cared for by family fighting for a chance to spend some time with her. 

Gwena was beautiful. She was tiny, delicate and solemn. She liked to gaze at people with contemplative eyes, as though she already understood all she surveyed.

The evening she’d been brought home from the hospital, they’d been stopped at the entrance by well wishers, those who hadn’t already made it to the hospital to admire her, and some who had. Morim held her in a traditional sling carrier over her body and she was selfish with Gwena, people were permitted to look, but not hold. He’d expected Morim to pass Gwena around, and clearly so had most of the disappointed Turians left in their wake. Their quarters had been filled with baby equipment and gifts while they were out, and after setting a few things up and arranging furniture for use, he called her on it.

He stepped behind Morim and put one hand around her waist, extended one talon to Gwena and said “My turn. You have to let other people hold her.”

Morim had laughed and said “No.”

He chuckled and said “This is very un-Turian behavior. She should have been passed around to everyone already.”

Morim had made a little squeak sound and then said more definitively “No.”

He nudged her shoulder with his chin and said sternly “I’m her father. Let me hold my daughter.”

Morim had been startled and had torn her eyes from the little sleeping face and said “Do you…this was really sudden. I know I…oh hell. Do you want to hold her or do you have to hold her? Is this some Turian thing?”

Garrus laughed and said “I’m going to forgive you for saying that. I want to hold her. If we’re going to have a daughter, I’m going to have a daughter. Let me have my daughter.”

Morim bit her lip and said “But she’s sleeping.”

He growled a little and squeezed her around the waist and said “Now.”

Morim held entirely still, didn’t move, but she let him take Gwena out of the sling with another distressed squeak.

Gwena opened solemn eyes and gazed at him, and he held her up and gazed back. Then he tilted his head forward a little and the tiny girl tilted her fragile crest to his and he was officially lost.

Let me have my daughter.

Gwena smelled helpless, even awash in Morim’s scent. He pulled her to his chest to add his own scent and her head turned to watch him. He was going to have to get a sling of his own. Two, one the color of her skin and one the color of her eyes. He walked her around the room, introducing her to plants and furniture and making sure she knew what he sounded like, what he felt like, what he smelled like.

He turned to Morim, who was watching them with a happy smile, took her hand, and drew her and the baby back out of the room. He walked with them to the sanctuary and activated candles for Gwena’s birth parents, Senni and her bond mate Uwil. He promised to bring Gwena back later to visit and to tell her stories about their lives. Then he took her out into the living spaces of the Madlis to properly introduce his daughter to her world

Gwena had met her family, enthusiastically passed around, admired and praised. She had slept through most of it, serenity on her face. She ate when she was offered food, she was changed and passed around again. Little children were given the opportunity to hold her if big enough or if too small, lifted to watch her sleep. Congratulations were given, praise given to Spirits, prognostications of beauty and intelligence and strength.

He’d reply to such predictions “Just like her mother.” 

Turian babies were quieter than human babies, their needs less frantic and more measured in reliable time intervals. They were born with teeth in place, able to eat solid food, claws and early plates soft but hardening after exposure to air, heads able to be held up. Turians did not cry and a distressed Turian baby spoke more in a light keening, a sound which Gwena had not yet made because there was nothing she’d needed that hadn’t been provided early and often. She had been making happy Turian baby sounds, contented purrs in her sleep and curious trills while awake.

Turians had a unique childhood perk that humans didn’t have, they could close their ears, so a sleeping baby could make their own silence, shutting out the sound in the same way they could close their eyes and shut out the light. This ability was gone by around age 5 when the ears fully developed and the outer apertures opened permanently and hardened, but it certainly helped in the raucous community environment that was Turian life.

Morim had been jealous when she’d found out. There were human couples in Clan Shepard, human babies in the Madlis, but there was nothing close to the serenity of a sleeping Turian newborn, that self-provided peace in the middle of potential loud chaos otherwise.

Hours later he escorted his sleepy, happy wife and his wide-awake daughter back to their rooms. 

Morim hadn’t slept in about a day and a half and had spent a great deal of time at the hospital in recent days. She was exhausted, but proud and happy.

He put Gwena down in the cradle close to the bed against Morim’s protests and then pulled Morim bodily into the human shower, out of hospital clothes and into his arms. His wife welcomed his body into hers with the warmth, gratitude and communion of a woman whole in body and mind with nothing missing, nothing needed, feeding pleasure into him with moans and gentle strokes of her hands. Her glorious unified voice had the pressured urgency she expressed when she felt she couldn't say enough, couldn't do enough to tell him how happy she was and how much she loved him. He held her, pressing kisses to her wet skin, tasting her as she told him whispered stories of her treasures, laying out her blessings like solid things to admire in the sunshine. Reverie and the sound of her voice cast their spell and he listened to her, humbled and exalted by this tiny woman who had called Godlike creatures up from the depths and cast others down from the sky and then spoke to him like a child seeking his approval in all things. She granted him all credit, all power, and kept none for herself. He savored time together, felt her wind down like an over-coiled spring, until her muscles flowed like water and her words slowed and then stopped, replaced by her mouth on his neck, her only word remaining was his name.

Out of the shower he wrapped them both in a blanket and lay down on the bed with his wife joined, sleepy against him. 

He reached over, lifted Gwena into the cradle of his free arm. Morim reached a hand out and Gwena wrapped a hand around her thumb again. He spoke to his women so they’d hear his voice, know how he smelled, know how he felt, and know that he would make the world a better place for them, with them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Seven years after arrival on Cipritine

Garrus

Miranda had asked for samples. Actual samples. It was getting possibly maybe true that she was thinking specifics. The science was stunning. He still thought it was magic. After talking to both Morim and Garrus and determining that there was no allergy whatsoever between them, Miranda had become fascinated at how their biology might be divergent from other human-Turian bonded couples.

He told her in the strictest confidence about the biological circumstances of his bonding choice and she’d been fascinated by the possibilities. She believed it would increase compatibility between genetic material since he had adapted to her so fully, but she’d need to test that theory.

He promised to give samples. 

He’d made a separate appointment from Morim and had a talk with Miranda after giving her everything she wanted, reasonable or unreasonable. He was going to need some painkillers. Later.

With Miranda busily categorizing he said “Tell me about the process, is the intent…to have Morim carry the baby?”

Miranda stopped for a moment, considering and said “Yes, ideally. That’s the whole… motherhood experience, at least. That’s certainly what a majority of clients would want. Some might opt for a surrogate if they were unable to carry for themselves or for other reasons, but Morim should be able to.”

Garrus said “Unless those are the last samples you ever want to get, I need you to promise me that she will not carry a baby. Anything else, a host, an artificial uterus, a varren, I do not care. I’ve seen human childbirth and I won’t survive it. I won’t have it done experimentally on my bond mate.”

Miranda drew her brows together and said “Well, I can ask Morim if…”

He leaned forward, utilizing slightly more menacing body language and voice “No, you won’t. You will find a way to convince her that she…specifically…cannot carry a baby even if every other woman in creation can do it. Otherwise I will kill you and nobody but you will know it was me.”

Miranda looked at him as though she could take him. She probably could, but he said “You can probably take me down, but be reasonable. I would be avenged and you'd get no unique Turian physiology pincushion for samples. They won’t let you keep my body.” To her cool, considering appraisal he said in explanation “I have a daughter, a beautiful daughter, not of my genetic material, not of Morim’s, and I couldn’t love her more and neither could Morim. It is not necessary to have a child of our genetic material, though I would love that child just as much, just not more. I won’t put Morim’s health at risk and I will kill you if you try because although I find you tolerable, I like my wife not potentially bleeding to death or developing a fatal systemic allergic reaction more. Can you tell me with 100% certainty that you can in all scenarios prevent those or other risks to her health?”

Miranda considered for a few moments and said “No. I can’t. Even a natural childbirth couldn’t promise that.”

Garrus said “Excellent. Then we’ll do it my way, 100% certainty that she will not be harmed.”

Miranda thought and then said slowly “It wouldn’t be unethical to do it your way. Your circumstances are unique. She's assured I know the potentials of her body. Your participation provides the unique circumstances that would make what you suggest a viable if not preferred option in face of the unknown risks and the early stages of trial. I could monitor a child gestating ex vivo better than one that Morim carried because I doubt I could get her in here for sufficient monitoring. Ideally she should stay at the hospital for the entire gestation period and that would be impossible, I'm sure. As you both are consenting to the procedure, your consent is required and I need to protect your confidentiality as I would protect hers. I will tell her that it would be inadvisable for her to carry based on the complications you mentioned and your unique biological circumstances. I will advise, but I will not lie to her. I will inform her that she would ideally need to stay in the hospital for the entire duration if she chose to carry the child herself. Likely she would opt out of that and seek another solution and I will present her with an appropriate alternative. Not a varren. I wouldn’t need to tell her that it’s inadvisable also because either her husband or her clinician…or both…would be dead as a result. I will guide her that way but if she insists, you and I will have a further conversation and you will need to disclose your death threats and either retract them or extend them to her. I will not betray your confidence, but neither will I lie to her. You don’t scare me, but I’d prefer a less combative relationship.”

Garrus said “Good. I’ll get you anything else you want. I will be the most cooperative Turian you have ever met and she won't miss an appointment.”

Miranda stared at him intently and said “All right. I can make that work. It might even be easier without all the variables. Thank you for the inspiration and your cooperation. Give me your other arm.”

After a while, samples were no longer involving his arm. Garrus grumbled "Please let one of those needles include an injection of painkiller. Was it the death threats? This seems excessive."

Miranda's head was down but he could tell she was smiling "The most cooperative Turian I have ever met definitely doesn't complain this much. Pain killers would alter your blood chemistry. Maybe later."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

Gwena was a huntress. She was solemn, quiet and still, like her father’s deeper nature. Hunting and stalking were part of Turian childhood play behavior, but often that was just loud stomping and raucous yelling and growling, a lot of 'look at me!' Gwena was different because her stalking was quiet and intent and she mostly sought opportunities to jump silently into laps. Gwena would know she was always welcome there and that was fun too, but sometimes Gwena would sit and watch until some set of unknown circumstances had aligned and then she'd strike, having earned her place somewhere in her mind.

Gwena was perhaps the lowest maintenance child ever conceived. She was never far from Morim or Garrus. She spent her days on their rounds, in their offices with them. Gwena never complained about spending time with the rest of the family or with children her age, but she had a preference and that was to be with them. She didn't complain in body or voice when they had events where she couldn't follow and she was a delight to the Clan, weaving her spells on all, but she would lean toward them subtly, follow them with her eyes if they were there.

Her parents were thrilled with that.

Gwena and Garrus were a little universe unto themselves. Morim was convinced there was a secret language of sub-vocal hums and mandible gestures that they both understood and others could not decipher. Gwena did that with people, built little intimate fortresses around her and whoever she was with. Gwena reminded her of Legion, quiet and still, pursuing her own undisclosed purposes. Several times throughout each day Morim would know Gwena had paused in playing with toys and was watching her quietly, either hiding behind something so there was only enough of her face seen to reveal an intent violet eye, or standing in the open, letting Morim know she was the most important thing in the room and deserving of Gwena’s undivided attention. 

Gwena's bond with Morim was like her bond with Garrus, specific to one person and unable to be translated or transferred. When Morim sang, Gwena's eyes would go wide and she'd put her hand, tiny claws extended to her mouth or her throat or both. Morim had always stopped before Gwena had lost interest. Gwena never lost interest. Gwena had never once cut anybody accidentally with claws or teeth. She was graceful and careful. Morim didn't know if it was learned or inherent, but she shared Garrus's elegant control over his potentially lethal limbs. Gwena knew she could play rougher with Garrus than she could with Morim, never seeming to regret being subdued with Morim, made of hugs and snuggles, playing hunting games with Garrus with abandon that must be in Turian blood, growls and startles and laughter, the scrape of extended claws on plates some sort of salute and password.

When Morim and Garrus and Gwena were together in free time there would be a private universe of three, Gwena’s relationship to them both changed, happy and excited in her good luck of having the undivided attention of her favorite people.

Gwena had outgrown her sling carriers, but she still spent much of her day in the arms of her mother or father, patient through conferences and conversations, never interrupting, watching intently or sleeping. Morim and Garrus would trade off, one day Gwena would go with Garrus on his rounds, the next with Morim to her kitchen, and then they’d meet up for breakfast. Days were spent in the office and then out in the Madlis for classes, celebrations, family.

Gwena slept in their room and often in their bed, bodies tumbled together in a triad of leaning and meeting eyes, whispered voices and hands clasped. Over time and experience the more desperate edges of their fears for each other had smoothed and the long-awaited addition of a child had released a source of anxiety and worry that had resided in Garrus's bones, wanting her to have children. He had fallen hard in love with little Gwena and their worlds had expanded beyond the boundaries of what it had been before. They had transformed from killers to caretakers and Garrus had two sets of adoring eyes to see himself through. Gwena's love, unlike Morim's, had been easy and instant, no requirements and no judgment, reading needs in each other's sub-harmonics that were traded like sharing breath.

Having Gwena in their lives was a blessing of intimacy and understanding, a little body sharing seamlessly their bond that had caused so much trouble and outrage, allowing full acceptance because Gwena said so. An impossible occurrence ten years ago, a bonded Turian to a human with a child not from their clan. They happily defied impossibility, faith in that bond growing like a tree that had gone without enough water or light, roots bound in a pot for years. That tree had sunk thirsty roots into deep soil and reached leaves to the sky, finding an unquestioned home. 

She remembered having the conversation before coming to Palaven, casting a child as an intrusion and a burden. None of that had been true. Not with this much family, this much support, this much enthusiasm for the future brimming over the Madlis.

It was freeing. Garrus and Morim had always been willing to die for, kill for or suffer for strangers and had felt burdened by that obligation that was not shared by all. Now they would die for, kill for and live for this child, gratefully and willingly, begging for another day together. She lit up the future, as did the other children in the Madlis and dying for and killing for had not been required, the only demand was continued living and she no longer felt the need to pine for the possibilities of death alone without Garrus. Alone was an impossibility now, her family coiled tight around her heart, protecting her from despair born of isolation and trauma.

The Madlis had had to have some pruning, discovering some Earth plants that were mildly toxic to Turian children, and even to human children. Nothing deadly like oleander, Garrus had done his research on toxicity even before building, but some plants or flowers or bark could cause mild allergic reactions or smelled so enticing they were chewed down to stubs or pulled up, mysterious soil trails leading to no evidence. The plants had been replaced by less tempting varieties, but Gwena had never put a hand or a mouth out of line, never grabbed or took something that wasn't distinctly hers.

Her parents were distinctly hers. She contentedly stalked them all day and they allowed themselves to be hunted and watched, waiting for the moment when she'd claim the prize of their full attention, curl up on their lap or cling to their necks. Gwena didn't speak much, she had a bright, gentle intelligence, the first to notice another child distressed and point them out quietly, always quietly, moving to comfort them herself. She preferred listening to speaking and Morim read her books in English and Turian. She couldn’t sing forever, but she could read for days, Gwena’s little hand on her throat, feeling her voice, wondering what happened next. She called Morim Avah sometimes, and Morim thought she did it around other children that called her Avah to make sure that she knew she was part of a family and that all the children shared a part of Morim, but she sought private individuality in address when they were alone, choosing her own words for mother and father. Since Morim had explained to Gwena what her name was and the flower it represented, Gwena had given them both names of plants that grew in the Madlis. She called Morim Tulip after the wall of Shepard-colored speared flowers and called Garrus Trepa, which was a Turian hardwood tree growing close to the glass walls, casting shadows shifting through broad, sheltering leaves.

The glass wall between Garrus's office and Morim’s could be made opaque and the door closed for confidential meetings, but most often, like now, it was left open and transparent. Gwena had spent the morning on Garrus's side of the space, and now stood with one foot in Garrus's office and one foot in Morim's office, as though claiming both worlds for her own. Her head was pressed to the frame of the door, one eye astride each space, surveying her realm. It was her realm, there was no doubt.

Morim watched only obliquely, fascinated as always by Gwena’s fascination, but giving her the time to come to her own decisions. Morim worked with her head down, only casting surreptitious glances Gwena’s way, one moment there alone and the next moment joined by Garrus, down on his hands and knees next to her, deciding to stalk Morim cooperatively with no words and a few mandible flexes. Garrus crawled forward and Gwena walked with her little hand on his shoulder and Morim pointedly did not see them, going so far as to hum to herself.

They reached the base of her chair seemingly undetected and Morim saw Garrus catch Gwena’s attention with an expression of “I know something you don’t know.”

Garrus reached for Morim’s shoe and Gwena reached for the other one, and Morim had her shoes stealthily removed. Garrus took her ankle in his hand and gestured to Gwena to do the same and she did.

Oh this is not going to go well. The things I do for children.

She braced herself for it, but when Garrus started tickling she couldn’t keep from twitching and starting to laugh, trying to get her foot out of his hand. He held on tight and Gwena’s face turned delightedly to Morim’s, making sure this new sound was not distress.

Garrus showed her how to tickle and Morim managed not to kick either of them, just barely.

Entirely worth it when Gwena surged into her lap, wrapped her arms around her neck and buried her face in her hair with a happy purr and Garrus switched to massage instead of tickling.

Gwena turned around, sat on Morim’s lap and tried tickling her own feet, disappointed or satisfied Morim did not know. Turians were not as ticklish as humans, and their feet were nearly horn on the bottoms and not skin. She was not going to show Gwena where Garrus was ticklish, she was keeping that to herself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Timeline: Nine years after arrival on Cipritine

Garrus

The addition of a hybrid child was a cataclysmic event that if the Madlis had pillars, would have rocked them, either from alarm or from the laughter.

Miranda had shown up at the front door of the Madlis carrying a baby. Garrus and Morim had been entirely out of the loop after samples had been given when requested. Morim had chosen easily that she didn’t want to carry the baby and be hospitalized for at least 11, possibly 18 months depending on the differential between preparation and human and Turian gestation periods. Gentle probing from Garrus on the subject revealed to his relief that Morim did want a child, but did not want to find out what Turian plates felt like during labor and did not want to be in a hospital for a year and a half potentially. She concluded…too many variables, too much risk, too much time away from existing family. 

So Miranda had found a varren. Or something. Miranda had remained closed mouthed about the process, likely due to Garrus’s willingness to interfere in it. If she didn’t disclose it, he couldn’t disagree.

She brought them a little boy they named David Thane, after Anderson and Krios, and he was a terror. He was startling looking, expectations of appearance disrupted. He had narrower plates than normal with thick ruffs of short hair between on his head, Turian hide and human skin composition in combination depending on where it was on his body. His hair was Vakarian blue, the color of Garrus’s eyes. His eyes were red, the color of Morim’s hair. His plates and skin were the color of Morim's skin, with a distinctly Turian light purple metallic gleam in shifting light.

He was something entirely new, neither dextro nor levo, but able to ingest and metabolize from both worlds, his systems a marvel of science. That Miranda was a genius was clear. That it took her twice as long to create this child as it had to bring Morim back to life…was testament to the complexity of what she had created.

Miranda had assured them that whatever her science would produce, he would be able to mate with either Turians or humans…and obviously Asari. Nobody had muttered at that point “If they’d have him” because nobody had met the little monster.

He was a monster. Not genetically, just in temperament…which on reflection might be genetic considering his parents. He looked fierce and riveting and his bright eyes took in everything in the room and then mostly complained about it with a voice that was capable of double-voice boxed harsh of a Turian, screaming and crying of a human, and basically making a total nuisance of himself every moment.

Miranda had assured them he was perfectly…absolutely and beyond healthy. Robust.

No kidding robust.

He was nearly Krogan in temperament, absolutely loyal to his mother and father, which was the basis of the problem. He didn’t like it when they were out of his sight and his complaints were as violent as Gwena’s had been nonexistent.

He didn’t sleep unless he was held, he didn’t eat unless he was held, he was unbearably opinionated about who could hold him, namely, Morim and Garrus.

Morim had been willing to pass him around proudly when he’d first entered the Madlis and he’d done his best to bite. He could aim. Gentle nose nudges and admiration up close was out. No crest touches. He’d take out an eye. Nobody escaped the racket and he was introduced mostly over loud voices and gesturing at him, which irritated him more and he tried to overcome the noise with his own, and he won.

Gwena called him Daytha, a combination of his two names. His parents decided that Daytha was an excellent nickname, and that would call him Bakan in private.

When Garrus and Morim had managed to get him to their private quarters and Morim had sat down on the bed, Garrus looking down, both of their faces where Daytha could see them, they’d had the first peace. He didn’t try to bite, and he stared at them both in turn, as though he was making sure the other hadn’t left. With Morim’s arms around him he’d reached for Garrus with thinly plated five-fingered hands with smaller but well-formed talons and Garrus reached out and had had those talons wrap fiercely around his finger.

Morim said “Miranda said she’d exposed him to our scents. He knows us.” Miranda had also given him a Turian olfactory system and hearing, considering them superior to human.

Garrus said “Wait until my ears stop ringing. Then you can say that again.”

Morim had smiled and rocked the little creature and said “What is he? Turman? Humian?” 

Garrus said “He’s loud is what he is.” He was also a miracle, an entirely new life form, composed of the two of them. Morim was fascinated as she had been with Gwena and Garrus was humbled, amazed, all those things it would be impossible to experience in a few hours and would have to be spread over a lifetime with this creature of noise and fury and fascination, guarding his parents with a fierce expression, demanding that they stay with a glare at both of them, and swiveling of his head back and forth to make sure.

Definitely their son.

They were concerned that Gwena was going to be bitten, and cautioned her to be careful, but he didn’t bite. He did growl at her, and then looked at Morim and Garrus, jerking his head at her as if to warn them of an interloper. Garrus kept Daytha’s hand wrapped around his and lifted Gwena into his lap. He wasn’t sure what it was, the permission or the scent. Gwena would definitely smell like them. Daytha narrowed his eyes at her and then ignored her, eyes in the meantime only for his parents.

He didn’t scream. Thankfully. Small blessings among the miracles.

Garrus privately decided Miranda had used a varren as surrogate, because Daytha’s behavior was territorial and protective. He was a herder, and they were his flock. Absolutely his son. He’d herded Morim for how many years? He’d like to think he did it with more sophistication and occasionally less noise, but he could appreciate with heartfelt sympathy this little boy’s instincts. He’d definitely felt like making noises like that when he hadn’t managed to successfully herd Morim. Solidarity with intentions, if not methods. 

After some time of reassuring himself that maybe he didn't have to yell at anybody, Daytha struggled in Morim's arms. She set him face down on the bed, still in sight of all of them. He continued to struggle, trying to lift his arms and raise his body, but he couldn't just yet. He could raise his head. When he managed that, only slightly wobbly, he looked as though breathing fire would fit right into his physique and abilities. 

They were all fascinated, but Gwena made the next move, slipping away from Garrus's lap to lay down on the bed facing Daytha, play hunting as she would with any Turian baby. Daytha looked at her and narrowed his eyes, looked at Morim, looked at Garrus, who were both silent and still, with that entranced look specific to new parents, with an added bonus of "What the hell is going on here?" and a hint of "Please no blood."

Gwena didn't make a sound, only postured, weaving back slightly on her hands, and he was immediately jealous and frustrated at not being able to do the same thing. He moved his head back and forth with hers and his eyes lit with tentative recognition, not threat. Her moves were gentle and his were clumsy but…there's that robust word again, and he got excited until he was making noise. When he got to a certain level of unbearable Gwena reached out her hand and pushed his head down to the bed.

Morim said gently, with love lacing her words, making Gwena giggle "No, Gwena, we can’t kill it, it’s family.”

Morim’s laughter joined hers and then Garrus laughed and Daytha discovered laughing and seemed to be surprised and then enthusiastic about the sound, trying it himself. His laughter sounded reminiscent of Grunt in that way of specific cadence and taking his time. It was clear and melodic and sounded not Turian or human…it sounded like the new thing he was.

Gwena looked satisfied and scratched her talons through the stiff ruffs of hair until the laughter faded and he started to purr.

Definitely their son.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They had hope that Daytha someday would actually sleep, but they were not holding their breath, and neither did he. Okay, he slept, but he didn’t sleep unless either Morim or Garrus were holding him. Not just holding him, bouncing him. The bounce was the signal that all was clear and if the bounce stopped there would be screaming hell to pay. 

They had hopes that they could extend his territorial, guarding behavior to more people, hopefully even to proxy the Shepard marks, but so far only Gwena, Morim or Garrus were able to get him reasonable quiet, make him laugh, play with him. 

They’d made a tactical decision, which in this case was cowardly and they were both okay with that. They dropped him off determinedly at one of the Madlis nurseries with promises of hazard pay bonuses, earplugs and plastic surgery if necessary, handing out dire warnings about being careful about noses and Definitely. No. Lips. Near. Daytha. Not kidding. He was fast and he was accurate and you have been warned.

They had run away from their son, and they were gleeful, racing down a corridor until Garrus skidded to stop and then backtracked, opened a door and yanked Morim inside. She was laughing and flushed and always, always beautiful. Long, lazy days in bed were past, Gwena’s gentle acceptance and easy ways no longer setting the pace of their lives. 

They had to take definite action to get some time together and cowardice, right now, was the only way.

He paused, taking in her face and skin, always mesmerized, and she said urgently “Hurry, he’s probably learning how to walk! He’s coming!”

She’d lunged for him and he’d caught her face in his hands, kissed the laughter from his lips and added some of his own, fumbling like a fledgling with his eyes closed, her hands and his hands rushed and moans blooming. She was too short to do anything about it standing up. She was actually hopping, her hands on his shoulders, clothes barely enough out of the way to accomplish much but he did gather she didn’t want to injure him by launching herself and bending him the wrong way.

Spirits, he didn’t feel like he could bend at all, or that she could ever touch him the wrong way. They were hungry and reaching and he lifted her with no preamble and slammed her hard against the back of the door. They hadn’t made it far into the room, just enough to close the door. Her hands reached for him to guide him in and he groaned hard against the skin at her neck. She scored nails at his chest and dragged her fingers down her face and throat. He watched the bliss spread over her features, confirmation of the same feeling in his body.

They were alive and so happy and she was laughing again, her eyes closed and tilted back. She was gasping and saying “Oh, I needed that. We are addicts.”

He nodded, bit at her throat to draw blood, held her mouth to his throat. He bit and he licked at her lips with voracious hunger, that spreading joy. He moved his mouth over her and said “We’re terrible parents.”

She nodded and said “We are. Gwena made it look so easy.”

He said “We brought down the Reapers. We’re smart and we’re capable and some day…some day, Venri, we will get that child to sleep for more than 20 minutes.”

She said “That’s what I’ve always loved about you, Garrus. Your optimism.”

They both dissolved into helpless rumbling and giggling laughter.

She said “Oh, what if he takes out an eye.”

He pretended to think and said “Miranda will replace it.”

Morim said “I wonder if he’s trying to chase us.”

Garrus kissed her, said “Ten more minutes, then we go see. We don’t want to miss anything.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's it for these guys...though they're going to stay in my head. Thanks to everyone who reached out, made a connection, used a tissue, gave a hug. It has inspired me.
> 
> <3

Timeline: Fifteen years since the Crucible

Shepard

Once a year survivors and family got together to the best of their ability. People came to Cipritine to visit, bringing family and friends. All surviving species that had access to Mass Effect relays and knew the story now had a holiday for remembrance around the time of the Crucible firing, and those involved were often able to get away.

They had lost people, and they would be honored. The Sanctuary had new candles each year. Three years ago Hackett had died, in a hospital, the cause being old age. He was surrounded by his family. Two years ago they had lost Zaeed. He had died in bed with two women of undisclosed species, his blood alcohol level undisclosed to not speak ill of the dead. The sole Salarian Shepard had passed away from old age, leaving behind a dazzling array of anthropological monographs.

Miranda was by before the party, she often came by to check on Daytha, to check on the other children she’d provided to Madlis couples. She had provided multi-colored and dazzling children that had steep but joyous learning curves for their parents. Miranda was now highly sought by every mixed-species couple who had heard of her miracles. Daytha was no doubt her favorite. Considering she had been handcrafted by Miranda and so had Daytha, they owed her a great deal, but Miranda had learned not to try to run too many tests on him because biting became a factor. At least now he usually warned someone first, having learned overly effective threat behavior. With lowering of his brow, baring of his teeth and his un-Earthly and un-Palavanly growl, people learned quickly.

Oriana had moved wherever Miranda did, developing an interest in Miranda’s research and in being close to her sister. This was not the first visit they’d made together, and they’d be staying for the week-long celebration held at the Madlis each year, guests welcome to come and go for whatever time slot they could manage. 

Oriana looked around, her eyebrows drawing together. She said tentatively “Did…has anybody seen my Datapad? I was just taking notes and…”

Morim smiled sympathetically and said “Yeah, it’s gone. Daytha happened to it. We used to be able to figure out how to locate them by tracking and clear out his haul, but he figured that out and started disabling tracking…somehow. We still don’t know how. We’ve threatened retaliation in the form of a tracker on him, but he laughed. He’d dig it out or disable it and we’re not willing to escalate. His retaliation is to be feared. The Madlis is huge and that dragon has his hoard somewhere. I’ll get you a replacement. It’s easier.” Morim walked to a cabinet, took out a blank Datapad and gave it to Oriana “He won’t take anything else from you again for about three months, and then he’ll return what he took previously. Everyone loses something. He makes his rounds. Some people swear that he hasn’t taken anything from them, but I think they just don’t know what’s missing. He’s very thorough. The blank Datapads are perfectly safe because they have no known owners yet for him to tweak, categorize or stalk.”

Miranda looked thrilled and not so secretly, so was Morim. So was Garrus. She was so used to Daytha being impossible and incredible to live with that it was just funny to see the look on Oriana’s face. Morim said “You’ve been using a local Extranet provider here at the Madlis. We do shadow caches of all work and wipe it after 7 days. Most everyone knows to report theft before then. You should be able to download anything you’ve done and a backup of your settings, encrypted to your login information. We don’t want the information, we just don’t want people to kill our son. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, I figured you’d had something filched before. Welcome to the family. He probably won’t take anything else, but he’s getting taller, able to reach new things through subterfuge or acrobatics, and he likes to take things apart, so on your next visit, just be aware.”

Garrus had taken to leaving carefully disabled electronics and mechanics around as bait and education. They would disappear and then sometimes return, fixed.

Oriana nodded, a little stunned, and recovered her notes.

Daytha, her little Bakan, rounded the corner through the door as though he hadn’t been lurking about, having just stolen and hidden something. They could probably rig a camera system, but if they cleared out his hoard again he would not be pleased. Best to let the détente stand. He was five years old and some change, sturdy and with the now-familiar blend of Turian and human characteristics. More muscled than a Turian, less plated than a Turian, tall for a child his age of either species. Potentially smarter than anybody in a room with him. He may not be smarter than his parents necessarily, but he was able to negotiate, took hostages and was willing to execute them. He figured out how to do what he wanted and they figured out they weren’t going to kill him despite the urge. They’d settled on an acceptable amount of mayhem in a day and held that status quo, hoping to push it back as he aged. They had hope. He was growing up, joining in, puffed up with the status of who he was, who his family was, and what he could do with that. He could afford to be magnanimous occasionally with the lesser mortals.

He was happy. He was healthy. He was a miracle.

He adored his sister, loved his parents, socialized and played with a few select thousand or so people he found tolerable and up to his standards. He was ridiculously spoiled, but at this point, so was Morim. Why not share?

Daytha gave Morim his heart-grabbing grin and ran full tilt into her arms. She pulled him up and he nearly choked her to death, as always, hugging too tight and too hard and thinking it was funny. She hugged him back, not as hard, and waited for him to finish, because asking him to stop just got another type of laugh, a determined ‘No!’ and more air issues.

They were very lucky he loved his parents, occasionally did things he didn’t want to do just to make them happy, and had stopped biting. Mostly. 

Morim pulled back when he did and said “Daytha, did you take Oriana’s Datapad?”

Daytha looked genuinely shocked, hurt, innocent and aggrieved and said with Turian solemnity like his father, human and Turian features questioning her sanity “No, Avah, why would you think such a thing?”

Morim tilted her head and said “Bakan, you are lying to me.”

He broke into a cackling laugh that belied his innocent protestations and said “SO much! Lying so much!” He jumped off her lap and ran full tilt again into Miranda, who caught him and spoiled him some more, and didn’t get bitten, as this was mostly a social visit. Oriana looked slightly spooked.

That was reasonable. That was what meeting Daytha was like. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

The parties were always a nightmare of prep, coordinating with security checks on landing so they weren't duplicated, or were absolutely duplicated. So far he'd been lucky and nobody had made it inside the Madlis that was a terrorist in personality, unless they counted their closest friends…and a great deal of their family…and a lot of Vakarians…and many military and diplomatic acquaintances.

The web was too big, the strands too numerous and interactions too volatile for one man, so he'd hired the best security, hacking and support personnel he could, who were also by temperament volatile.

There had been external attacks on the Madlis and they'd had to add air support based on intel regarding an air strike that had been verifiable. Feron had tipped them off, Kasumi had assisted and then General Victus and the Primarch had authorized defensive hardware for private use after scrambling to successfully intercept.

Shepard personnel were not always safe outside the Madlis, but Morim was safe. Their children were safe. He spent long, tedious hours on due diligence of personnel vetting and maintenance of infrastructure and policy, checking work, having people check each other's work anonymously. He did feel safe, but not unthreatened. Too many people, too many ways for things to go wrong. He was determined it would go right and for years this had worked, aided by the fierce loyalty and sharp interest of those who were in or favored Shepard Clan. Over this next week there would be a huge turnover in travel and accommodation, swapping about a thousand people leaving to two thousand arriving at the Madlis to stay with family and friends.

He had had to deny entry to quite a few people, but did offer some of them lodgings in outlying buildings. More security checks. Discreet shadows on them. They would be getting nowhere near Morim or anybody's children.

Morim would have very little time to meet new people, but she always insisted on meeting some of them. She allowed him to choose who out of candidates she brought to him. She left it entirely in his hands and had never insisted on overriding his concerns. Unlike a normal day, a great deal of the Madlis would be blocked off to entry from the outer ring of reception and party and memorial. A few dedicatedly public aspects of the Madlis would be open for tours and visitors, as they were once a year for this week.

Tali had warned him that she would have a bit of an entourage for a visit, but he knew her well enough to know she had security covered. It had still come up, because she was traveling with Legion’s body and Geth had never been present on Palaven. Ever. Garrus went the diplomatic route of assuring that Tali's vessel would not be shot out of the sky, arranging for passage and security and special dispensations. It was time consuming, but they'd begun this process about six months ago. 

One of his greatest security concerns was Daytha, who was a menace. When asked not to do something, Daytha's instinct was to immediately do it and think it was funny. Daytha painted Shepard marks on his face, though he knew he had no right to them. They had very carefully explained about age and patience and he had ignored them. They had no idea what he used for the pigment and they couldn't get it off, and they had stopped trying. He was now an off-color and smudged fierce faux Shepard. 

One of the hardest parts of being a parent was not laughing or hugging him, having to keep a straight, disapproving face. Often he and Morim had to leave the room quickly before sending each other into repeated spasms of laughter. Daytha gave Garrus every cathartic opportunity to sympathize with his rebellious and creative son, nurture him and be rewarded with the fiercest hugs and Daytha's deep pride in his family. Morim adored him and they had worked out a balance of love and guidance, and parenthood was the most expansive and inclusive experience of his life, in a life that had consisted of smaller and progressively more hostile spaces.

Hopefully Daytha would not hijack or disassemble Legion or EDI. Most people in the Madlis had accepted Daytha's harassment in stride and there were enough Shepards that adored him for Daytha to know he was loved if not encouraged. He brought more mischief than harm with his parents following him around compensating for him, replacing or reversing his systematic theft. 

As long as Daytha did not decide to leave the Madlis himself, which had been a constant fear until Garrus had planted a subdermal tracker on the sleeping boy and proximity alert on his biometrics and an alert if he was even approaching exit routes, they should be fine.

Should be.

Right.

He should probably put another tracker on him. He still didn’t know how Daytha disabled things.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Shepard

From the moment the Normandy arrived, the party began to pick up into full raucous swing. The Madlis was a disciplined if ebullient place, and the chaotic atmosphere brought out the daring and the excitement in even normally reticent people. Shepard Clan took fierce and increasingly demonstrative pride in personalizing this event, everyone grabbing some glory through the light cast by the Normandy crew and meeting family that did not wear marks.

Memorials were held, children greeted, new family met. They hadn’t met Tali and Kal’s new baby girl Bahar yet, but they’d seen her grow up this past year.

Music in the central domed chamber of the Madlis began with a formal opening dance, with Morim asking Garrus, and then other female Turians asking their mates to join, until everyone who wished was on the floor. All races, all genders, beginning with a single formality and custom and traveling through a free-for-all of anybody dancing with anybody they chose.

Morim would ask Garrus to dance several times through the night, as she always did.

The crew of the Normandy had arrived, Vega still in command. Maybe someday he would retire, but for now he was thoroughly enjoying eyeing Admiral Hackett’s vacant position. He looked well, new scars, same swagger. The Normandy had been to Palaven so often and the crew had spent so much time at the Madlis that the crew, old and new, were treated as family returning home. Honorary Clan. He specialized in lifting excited children over his head and precipitously pretending to drop them to shrieks and hops and demands of more, Daytha often at the front of the line.

Cortez and Alenko had two adopted human children, a boy and a girl, who had been orphaned by the war and were the older of the children present, adults now. Had they been Turian they would have begun service already. They had been here every year since the celebration became official. Kaidan’s mother had passed away three years ago and had a candle in the Madlis sanctuary. She had visited for this celebration twice. 

Miranda and Oriana spent their time happily fending off come-ons from every possible race hitting on them, falling into shop talk with interested audiences in the moments between. 

Traynor and a brilliant Asari engineer by the name Vashell could ask each other to dance all night, so that’s how they spent most of their time.

EDI and Jeff danced a great deal. EDI had upgraded her dancing programming. They looked happy, relaxed, years of successful campaign behind them and promising future ahead. EDI had never regained her prior personality, but she had been able to adjust her own programming, becoming more expert in medical function, replacing Dr. Chakwas’s efforts in Jeff’s care and integrating herself into who she chose to be, not who she had been. She was a charming, eloquent woman who had begun to contribute her own analysis, finally becoming a source of sound advice regarding the crew of the Normandy. She was now a counselor to the crew, and invaluable at that position. Vega had never had the patience or interest in Morim’s command style, and he had learned to lean heavily on EDI’s observations.

Crime had reorganized, as it always had. Although there was no war between the sentient races for the first time, there was always someone being an asshole to smite. The Normandy kept busy policing Alliance interests and protecting or avenging further-flung communities and trade routes.

Dr. Chakwas and Dr. Alcinder lived on Palaven, had dedicated quarters in the Madlis as well as at the hospital. They often came over for meals during the week. They had primary access to Clan Shepard, a diverse collection of species and maladies and social evolution. They turned out research papers at an accelerated rate and turned down outrageous compensation offers, choosing to care for their adopted-by family instead.

Liara and Javik had a four-year-old little girl, Yali, that was entranced by Gwena. She spent most of the time with their hands clasped. Gwena gently and gracefully as always wove through crowds, delivering her to those who wished to meet her or give her new greetings, and even dancing with her, little Yali’s feet on her own to learn the steps. Liara and Javik had been surveying and revealing Prothean locations for years, published together and had enough governmental pull on every settled planet enough to have full and exclusive access as Javik was the only source of recovered information on the subject. When they had finished with a dig they would turn the site over to local governmental control, moving on to the next. They had years of work ahead of them and sites beginning to be set up as others were winding down.

Kasumi had been lured here on the very solid basis of Garrus telling her that he needed help with the security perimeter and if she could physically examine what they had set up he would be in her debt. Again. Morim had gotten in an actual hug before she had been off again, upgrading in a way that she assumed was vaguely smug and she would never technically understand.

Wrex and Bakara had not brought their children because that would require a Madlis of their own. Hundreds of children. Hundreds of children that were also cared for in a clan system that allowed for off-planet travel. They did however have hours of video and Wrex spent a great deal of time showing it to Daytha, telling him that someday he might be fierce enough to be considered Krogan kin. Daytha repeatedly head butting Wrex had been the answer, Bakara’s voice calmly urging Daytha on technique because in her opinion Wrex was too thick skinned to notice even damaging attacks.

Grunt was commander of his own ship, scouting new colony locations for Urdnot and with at least a hundred of his own children, claiming this week in the year was the only break he got from breeding requests with his slow laugh.

Jacob and his wife came with their son, another old hand at these gatherings, knowing which kitchens were always open and had the best food for humans. They gravitated to Miranda and Oriana, talking shop and catching up.

Samara was unable to make the trip this year. Likely no year in the future, though she sent her greetings. She and Falere had established a monastery far from the old location, memories and grief left behind. Samara had decided that if her daughter could not leave, neither would she. That was her new code, to guard that spot where she was most needed, most wanted, and wished most to be.

Garrus had excused himself and she hadn’t seen him in about half an hour, which wasn’t unusual but was unfortunate. It was time to ask him to dance again. When she felt his hand on her arm she put her hand on his and then turned to look at him, then she saw Tali close behind with Kal’Reegar carrying their daughter in a tiny lavender suit.

Her eyes traveling further, she saw the Geth behind Tali and was surprised…and then shocked. She recognized Legion, her armor still on his shoulder. Garrus’s hand tightened on hers. Tali looked back at Legion, who was looking around the room, unable to see Morim, but when he did, the familiar motion of his plates were so distinct she was mesmerized. He said calmly in greeting “Shepard Commander.”

Morim’s eyes went huge and she didn’t move. She stared. Tali rushed to fill in the silence and said “I got the idea from helping EDI. Legion was shut down during the Crucible burst, but he was still…he was still in there. EDI helped and…and we found him. Do you remember when you told me what he had last said to you after the Collector ship?”

Morim couldn’t tear her eyes off him but she said slowly, by rote “There are 1183 Geth programs present, and one that I have created that is based on the choices I have seen you make. I would like to see more choices.”

Tali nodded and she only saw the peripheral movement. Tali said “Morim, he was not Reaper tech. He had reprogrammed himself. He was still in there. A full AI, even though he was unable to restart himself. He burned out his power source to boost transmission. I was able to find him because you remembered what he’d said. He called himself ‘I’ and he…”

Morim shot out of her seat and pulled Tali into a glancing sideways hug, moving further to drag her toward Legion, and creating a three-person hug, Tali engaging happily and Legion’s hands and arms remaining, startled, to the side.

Garrus said “Don’t worry Legion, you’ll get the hang of it. I knew she’d hug you. She threatened to pull your cables out once, but…”

Morim said “Shut up, Garrus, I was grieving.”

Daytha arrived to head butt Legion in the knee just in case this monster was upsetting his mother. When he got a little dizzy and Legion did not budge, Daytha looked up at Morim, who smiled and reinforced the ‘hug’ aspect of her action. Daytha considered, eyes narrowed for a few moments, looked at Garrus, who nodded, and then Daytha hugged Legion’s leg, respect earned by being someone who hurt his head.

Morim said quietly “Welcome home.”

Grunt came over carrying a bottle and shouting “Ryncol shots! Battlemaster, you too. You can’t back out now.”

Morim pulled back with a smile and looked at Legion and said “Nope, can’t back out now. Ryncol shots.” She picked up Daytha and said “Not for you, love.”

Wrex said “Oh come on, he can take it. I’d bet a ship on it.”

Garrus said “Let’s not make the whole gathering about the boy…again.” He smiled and winked at Daytha.

Daytha said “About me!”

Knowing Daytha well enough and that he’d go after Ryncol after being denied it, she allowed him to dip his finger in to taste it and the face he made was proof he wouldn’t be going after it again for a while, if ever. 

They needed more bottles and more shot glasses, and they gathered a huge crowd of people wishing to toast to Legion’s return, those who had not met him had heard the stories, knew his space in the sanctuary, saw Morim often at his candle. The crew of the Normandy gathered in a tight ring around him, complaints of the choice of Ryncol, Joker saying “Well, we were all worried he was going to kill us all at one point, but now his evil plan will finally actually work whether he wanted to or not.”

Nobody declined to toast or drink.

Legion stood solemnly through a toast he couldn’t participate in, taking in faces and congratulations with stillness.

Gwena quietly asked Legion to dance, and when he nodded slowly she took his hand, guided him out onto the floor, and those two souls who had seemed so much alike to Morim moved with solemn grace to Turian percussion. Poetry.

Tali moved to Morim’s side and said “He can stay here, if you’d like. Having had enough time and power, he was able to propagate back into the Geth collective, and they’re rewriting themselves. He’s always there, but now he can be…in this platform. He wanted to see you.”

Morim said “Whatever he wants. He will always have a home here.”

Daytha reached out a finger to touch Tali’s mask and said “Can I keep him?”

Morim laughed, and said “Bakan, do not take Legion apart. He would let you and that would be mean. Same with EDI. You know the rules. No disassembling family.”

Daytha pouted and then considered sadly “No disassembling family.” He brightened. “Ride family!” He struggled down and waited impatiently until Gwena let go of his hand at the end of the music, then demanded a shoulder ride, which he got, ordering Legion to walk through the crowd at his direction.

Tali said, somewhat concerned “I have some backups if…”

Morim laughed and said “Yeah. If. Thank you. Now let me hold your daughter.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Garrus

She had left to take a congratulations alert on her Omni Tool and she hadn’t come back in 20 minutes. All right, 19 minutes, 47 seconds. 

He found her in the Sanctuary, standing in front of Thane’s candle.

He put his arms around her waist and she leaned back against him. She said “Kolyat called to say hello, he asked me to pass along greetings and congratulations. His children are beautiful. Mirlan is going to have a baby girl next year. Thane’s grandchildren are so beautiful.”

She…they…spent a great deal of time here. With thousands upon thousands of candles of loved ones, she always knew where each one was. Sometimes especially someone she had not known, that was perhaps an aunt to someone in Clan Shepard. Morim knew their stories, their names, she was the living memory of the symbols in this room.

Garrus knew everything that was knowable about a person before they entered the Madlis, the facts and the statistics. Once they stepped inside, she knew what could not be found, only told. She knew the relationships, the stories. Her talent, her gift for knowing people had not gone to waste, and she was the beacon of hope to everyone here that she had always been to him. 

He could no longer presume to speak for Thane, though he missed him and grieved in his own way. Morim would know everything about his son, everything about his grandchildren, everything that Kolyat and Mirlan would be willing to tell her, and as it often was, they treasured her questions, her presence, her remembrances of dates and events, across cultures, with so many people.

Morim said “Now I can’t…do I leave Legion’s candle or do I take it out or…?”

He chuckled and said “Leave it. It would be disrespectful to pretend the light we lit here never existed. You do know you had a memorial, right? I was there. It would be…disrespectful to metaphorically dig you up.”

She laughed and said “Ewww…yeah, with everything happening I never did visit my own grave.”

He said solemnly “I did. I can’t recommend it as an experience.”

She sighed and said “Where was it? I never…I didn’t ask. I don’t know where I’m not buried. It seemed appropriate at the time to not ask…torn between thinking I’d be tempting fate to ask, and also thinking I’d die beyond the relay and there wouldn’t be a body then either. Plus I was obsessed with a Turian and I got distracted.”

Garrus said “There was a memorial plaza on the Presidium. Very heroic. When I think of it I remember imagining other people there dead in your place. Me, mostly. So when I think of it the main impression I have is from that day or in my dreams. I would have killed everyone there, I wanted to. So it’s an image of thousands of dead people and you, alive. A reversal of the scene. I’d see you alive and mine would be the last death, some magic formula finished, but you would be alive and I would be glad.”

She said softly “Now I’m really glad I didn’t ask. I’d say that sounds pretty grim there, Venri, but I’ve met you. You tend to be opinionated.”

He laughed and said “So now we have the reversal, and that is often what I can see when I see you alone, in here, amid all of these candles and remembrances. The one person most deserving of knowing the stories, of still drawing breath.”

She said “And you didn’t have to die. And I get to be here with you. Funny that we faced our deaths so many times and we’ve never talked about this. I don’t want to be buried. Seemed like we’re so far past what we should have known about each other’s wishes…I think I’d like a Turian ceremony.”

Garrus said “Really? Why?”

She answered “I like the simplicity. You can’t be surprised that Turian things have grown on me, can you? Maybe have Miranda bring me back if you’re still alive, but only then. Otherwise, I want nothing left but a candle in this Madlis, next to yours.”

He said “Great. It’s a deal. Now all we have to do is manage to die simultaneously, painlessly and instantly and we’re all set.”

She said “I promise if you promise.”

He laughed and said “I believe Miranda can keep you alive forever, and me with you, so we won’t die.”

She said “Really? That’s your plan?”

He nodded and said “Yup. Immortality. Count on it.”

She said “Isn’t that a little greedy?”

He shook his head and said “Absolutely not. It’s the future, Venri. We’ll laugh about this in about four hundred years when we keep this room as it is and no more candles are added. Mark my words, you’re going to feel silly then.”

She said “Well, I feel silly now, discussing it, but if it comes to that, and I feel silly for not seeing the future, what do I owe you for being wrong?”

He said “Everything. You’re stuck with me now. You thought maybe a year, maybe a hundred years, now you’re bonded, you can’t take it back and immortality looms. That’s immortality and uncounted years of you trying to kiss me and having my visor poke something vital on your face.”

She said “You’ll get a new model, won’t you? I mean, hundreds of years, upgrade!”

He replied “No. I’m stubborn. Forever with stubborn.”

She raised a brow and said “Well, I’d better get used to the idea.” She turned in his arms and tilting her head very carefully away from his visor. She said “I’m about to say something terrible about poking something vital. Make me shut up before I go there.”

He laughed and kissed her, closing his arms around her, bending her back, feeling the soft laughter through his his hands on her skin.

She said “I think I could get used to forever.”

He said against her mouth “Even with the stubborn part?”

She said “Especially with the stubborn part.”

He said “Good, because I should mention, you have a bit of that yourself.”

She agreed “A bit.”

He realized he was about to ravage his wife in the Sanctuary in front of Thane’s candle and he’d better stop before he decided he really didn’t give a damn, which would be soon if she kept on…well, if she kept on breathing. His hands on her skin would do it. He kissed her, his hands on her back. Long minutes of her lips, her soft moans and caught breath. 

Not here. Not now. There were friends and family and…

He really, really wanted to, but even he had an ounce of shame remaining. The familiar burn of having to let go of her when he wanted to drag her away grew. He could. He knew he could pick her up and carry her anywhere and she would go with him. How spoiled he'd become in these last years, everything he needed at his fingertips, everything he wanted in her eyes.

He'd have a discussion with Miranda and start trying to fund immortality tomorrow because he would never have enough time with her.

Before he pulled her to the ground he chose to pull back instead and say “Ask me to dance, Venri.”

She smiled and said “Does it count as traditional if you asked me to ask you?”

He said “Fuck tradition.”

She laughed and said “Dance with me, Garrus Shepard.”


End file.
